


A Leap Away

by eyeus



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Handwavy Time Travel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Infinity War 1 Thor x Avengers 1 Loki, Time Travel Fix-It, infinity war fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-10-23 13:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17684693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeus/pseuds/eyeus
Summary: “This is crazy,” says Steve, not mincing words. They were speaking of leaping through time to bringLokiback, in a wild attempt to win the war. “Thisplanis crazy.”“Perhaps ‘crazy’,” Thor growls, “is the very thing weneed.”





	1. Devise

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Infinity War 1 AU. The Avengers find their resources scattered, their technology constrained, and a victory in the wake of Thanos’ destruction impossible—or _is_ it?
> 
> Tony’s line in Avengers 1 of “ _We have a Hulk_ ” and Loki’s callback to it in Avengers 3 made me wish to see Thor say, with the same unshakeable faith, “We have a _Loki_ ”. That, paired with the desire to undo Loki’s strange and uncharacteristic demise at Thanos’ hands, shaped this fic into being. 
> 
> Also inspired by the Avengers 4 set picture of Loki seen holding someone’s hand, (and the general internet flailing of “omg, it’s _thor’s_ hand, right?! it must be, it _must_!!!”) which can be seen **[here](https://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y283/slamduncan21/stuff%20to%20ul%20to%20sites/avengers%204%20stills%202.jpg~original)**.

~

_What did you_ do _?_ Thor had roared, even as Thanos grinned cruel, triumphant, assured in his victory before vanishing.

But he found out soon enough, as friends and comrades disintegrated into ash all around him. And when the magnitude of what Thor had allowed to happen, had _done_ , finally struck him, he had sunk to his knees in mud and stone and soil, his last hope torn from him. 

Thanos was gone. And with him, his gauntlet, the stones, and the chance to reverse all that the Titan had done. 

Dreadful awareness comes swift after Thanos’ departure, that their efforts have all been in vain—for Thanos has _won_ , and taken half the world’s lives in his madness. Leaving Thor, who had hoped for vengeance, for the opportunity to wrest the gauntlet from Thanos’ hand, with nothing. With the fight leeched out of him, the blazing fire of revenge in his heart extinguished, Stormbreaker driven hard against earth all that keeps him from crumpling to the ground in defeat. 

He had avenged no one. Not his brother. Not his friend, impaled like little more than a feasting hog. And not his people, half of whom lay dead aboard the Statesman, or what remained of it, after an explosion had shaken the ship apart. 

He had avenged _no one_ , in fact causing _others_ the same pain, the same soul-rending sense of loss—

“Thor.” A hand clasps his shoulder, shaking it, gentle. “ _Thor_.” With immense effort, Steve hauls him to his feet, though even his strength cannot sustain Thor’s weight, and before long Bruce flanks his other side. Suited in armour not unlike Tony’s, albeit larger, and for lack of a better word, _hulking_. 

“Am I ever glad to see _you_ ,” says Bruce, hefting Thor up without issue, with the one mechanical arm left to him. The other has been torn away, leaving a mess of sparks and wires, courtesy of his fight with a lieutenant of Thanos’ order, presumably. He pauses, searching the area around them before tilting his head, confused. “Where's Loki? I thought he’d be right behind you. _Beside_ you,” Bruce amends with a smile, knowing how things had changed between them in recent days.

Thor’s knees buckle beneath him again, at the mention of Loki, and he slips from Steve’s grip. Shakes his head, silent, willing himself not to weep. He cannot bring himself to speak of Loki’s fate, for it would mean having to acknowledge that Loki is—

“Oh,” Bruce says, quiet, realizing what he has blundered into. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Steve hefts Thor’s arm over his shoulders this time, his grip firmer, secure. Guides them in the direction of a city in the distance, and takes one determined step toward it, then another, even if each must feel a chore, a fight against leaden weights, a miring bog, as Thor’s do. “Thor, we’ve _all_ lost people,” he says. “But what we’ve got to do now, is figure out the _next step_.”

 _Next?_ Thor thinks numbly, his gaze unseeing. _What_ next _is there?_ Even as he allows Steve and Bruce to herd him along, stalwart bookends for a broken tome, he reflects upon the lives of the Asgardians lost. His friends from Sakaar, his home. 

His _brother_.

 _We have all lost people_ , Thor echoes in his mind. _But I_ —

I _have lost_ everything.

~

“Of _course_ it is a good idea to return to Earth,” Thor had said airily, short days ago. When Loki had lived, drawn breath, the kinship between them repairing itself, slow. Even then, had potential to grow. “The people of Midgard love me.” For was there not merchandise of his likeness, from backpacks to lunchboxes, and toy replications of Mjölnir itself?

“The mortals’ love for you does not extend to _me_ ,” Loki said sourly.

 _Given time and opportunity, they shall_ come _to love you_ , Thor had thought. _As I do_. But he kept the words secret in his heart, fearful of letting that seed of sentiment bloom too soon. When Loki could clip the bud with a harsh word or a thoughtless cruelty before it could flourish, unprepared for such a thing.

He had wound his arms cautious around Loki’s waist instead, seeking permission for another embrace—an affection they had shared more often since their impulsive, initial one after Asgard’s destruction. When Loki had whispered _I’m here_ , oddly gentle, even as a sob escaped Thor at the thought of all they had lost. _I’m here, I'm here, and I shall never leave again_.

It had been a wonder to have Loki in his arms again, a delight. To have him warm and real and _present_ , after so many years spent in strife. And the truest wonder was that Loki had allowed it, though by the way he wound his arms around Thor’s neck in turn, an embrace more intimate than the first they shared on the ship, he had certainly been ready to allow more.

They had had time enough to discuss the course of their journey henceforth, and what their first actions should be upon arriving in Midgard, with Loki offering to negotiate with Tony for use of his technology and resources to help them rebuild. “That is, if he can tear himself away from his pet projects long enough,” Loki snorted, fingers drumming thoughtful against the sill of his window, one gazing out into the cosmos.

“Pet projects?” Thor had furrowed his brow, unfamiliar with the term. “Do you mean he is breeding small animals to—”

“ _No_ ,” Loki said hastily. “I mean minor amusements and experiments he engages in, to pass the time. Take his B.A.R.F. technology, for example. Unfortunately named, and though it has real potential, its applications are limited.” As he went on to explain this, along with Tony’s other experiments, Thor could only be grateful Loki had not idled away his time on Asgard’s throne, keeping a close eye on all the Realms from Hliðskjálf instead. 

He had taken in neither the knowledge nor the technical terms of what Loki spoke of; preferred instead to watch Loki talk, revelling in the easy cadence of his voice and the animated gestures of his hands, a fond smile gracing Thor’s lips and a familiar happiness not felt in _years_ warming his heart. 

They had time now, Thor thought. To sort out who they were. What they were to each other. Perhaps they could start by sharing a bed, due to the ship’s ever-crowded quarters. Thor could touch a tiny kiss to Loki’s cheek, to test the waters. And if Loki reciprocated in kind—well.

But it turned out they had no time at all.

For Thanos had descended upon them, swift and sudden and merciless, the behemoth of his ship dwarfing the Statesman entire. And before Thor knew it, the ship had been blown apart, half his people were strewn dead among the rubble, and Loki himself had descended into nervous prattle, a pendulum swing from brokering deals to betrayal. Why he had not used the Tesseract to escape himself was beyond Thor—perhaps he feared Thanos could track the trajectory it took, or feared leading him to the destination of the Statesman’s escape pods—but it was clear enough when he offered it, that he was making a play for time. 

The bitter irony was that he had bought so little—enough for remaining survivors to escape, to free Thor from Thanos’ grasp—and absolutely none for himself. 

There had not been time to brave a rescue, with how swiftly Thanos acted after, and Loki—Loki had died a king of nothing, and no one, despite the titles he gave himself. Titles and standing Thor would have given him, gladly, if only he could have Loki _back_.

In the days to come, he would wonder why Loki’s plan had been to leap at Thanos with little more than a _dagger_. Spend time and thought in attempt to unravel Loki’s _actual_ plan, if there was one. Finally, he would be forced to accept that perhaps there had _been_ no plan, and the dagger was Loki’s last, desperate attempt to vanquish the Titan.

But amid the burning wreckage and corpses surrounding them then, Thor clutched him for as long as he was able, for he would die with Loki, would protect his body from the cruelty of space, as he had failed to on Svartalfheim—only to discover when he had come to, been seen to, a blanket thrown around his shoulders and hot porridge pressed into his hands, that he had been found _alone_.

“Like a single, solitary bug splattered on our windshield,” the tiny woodland creature—a fox, a squirrel, a rabbit? A rabbit, surely—Rabbit had assured him, Rabbit’s friends nodding silent behind him.

It meant he had lost Loki at some point. Let go without meaning to. Let him go _again_. 

“But my…my brother’s body,” Thor had tried, the words rasping harsh through his throat, a labour to force them into being. “Is there any way we could…” _Is there any way we could return for him?_ he wanted to ask, willing his hands not to tremble around the crude bowl he was given.

They must have been hours away from Loki by then, however. And by the look his rescuers shared between them, it was clear they thought Thor lucky to have escaped with his own life intact. That, and they had their own urgent plans now in the scheme of things, knowing Thanos was on the move again and actively seeking the stones.

So the answer to his question unfinished was a clear _no_ , with Rabbit patting Thor’s knee with a tiny paw, strangely empathic. _Them’s the breaks, kid_ , he had said, even if the others shuffled away awkward to their controls, not meeting Thor’s gaze.

The thought of Loki drifting aimlessly in space, like so much jettisoned debris, was too much to bear, and Thor had decided then and there he needed a _plan_ —a simple checklist of items that would keep him focused on one thing, then the next. He would have a weapon forged, for thunder and lightning had done little to penetrate Thanos’ defense. He would have his vengeance. And after his vengeance, he would search for Loki’s body, bring him back, bring him _home_ , wherever that might be, and if the Norns allowed it. 

If there was anything left of Thor by then. 

But for that, he would need to commandeer a ship. Or a pod. 

“ _No one_ ,” said the crew member named Quill, drawing himself up to his full height with a huff, “whether god-man or pirate-angel, will be taking _our_ pod today.” A response to Thor’s less than subtle bid to key in the nearby pod’s passcode.

“Yeah,” added the tree-like being behind him—Tree, Thor secretly called him—his voice the sway of branches in an autumn wind and the creaking of old doors, but understandable in the Allspeak all the same. “No one steals from the Guardians of the goddamned _Galaxy_.”

A laugh, bitter and small, escaped Thor then, for he had to agree; a galaxy without his people, his friends—his _Loki_ —was certainly damned. Caught red-handed, and with no other recourse, Thor reached for words to explain his utter desperation, what having the pod would mean to him. 

Knowing the weight his next words would carry made their delivery no easier, however, and Thor turned to the habit that had always calmed him. Reaching up to twist the lock of hair between his fingers, the one twined with a lock of Loki’s. When he would find himself thinking _what would Loki do, what would Loki say?_ his brother’s hair silky and soft, wound gentle within the coarseness of his own.

Except Sakaar had robbed him of his last memento of his brother, the lock of Loki’s hair twined with his own shorn, then discarded like rubbish. And perhaps _that_ was what had broken him—that the last vestige of Loki he cherished so dearly should be stolen from him, that he had nothing left of Loki to call his own—for Thor wept tears he had not known he had left to weep. 

In front of _strangers_ , no less. 

Perhaps the sight of a god mourning so wretchedly moved their hearts to pity—Rabbit had jumped readily enough to his defence, followed grudgingly by Tree—for swiftly after that had been the journey to Nidavellir, the forging of Stormbreaker, and then, and then, and _then_ —there had been no time for tears at all.

~

“Here,” Steve says now, hefting a set of chairs into Thor’s arms. “Help me with these. This’ll keep your mind off things.”

Thor simply nods, silent, and carries them where he is told, only too grateful for busywork to keep his mind from grief. 

They are moving chairs and tables into the throne room within the Citadel, a palace Thor has since learned houses the royals of this country, called Wakanda. At present, it appears more a war council room, as one in the Asgard of old, than a throne room, with several remaining Avengers and Dora Milaje clustered together, poring over maps and schematics. Others trickle in silently, some still in shock, and others their motions wooden, dulled—all of them survivors of Thanos’ massacre. 

It is a strategic regrouping, Thor decides, to determine what they must do next.

And though there are other matters Thor _should_ see to, he supposes—the safety of the Asgardians and ex-Sakaarans who _did_ make it to Midgard, the welfare of the wounded in the recent battle—he wants to take part in a plan that will see _all_ his people arrive safe on Midgard. Hopes against hope that something will come of this council besides a mass mourning, and the logistics of seeing to their dead. 

It is too bitter a pill to swallow, for them to have fled Hela’s wrath and Asgard’s destruction—only for Thanos to decimate them soon after.

In short order, Steve introduces him to others in the chamber: there is Okoye, of the Black Panther’s own guard; M’Baku, leader of the Jabari tribe, for this country seems to be divided into tribes, a different system than Asgard’s entirely; and other tribe leaders and council members besides, most of whom are too stricken to greet Thor properly.

They have just finished paying their respects to the Queen Mother, when a girl appearing no older than twenty summers hurries breathless into the chamber, a tablet clutched in hand. Visits briefly with the elders of the council, before marching toward Thor and Steve, brisk.

“ _You!_ ” she calls, before Steve can make a proper introduction, her voice vibrant, undefeated. Stops in front of Thor, her gaze keen and assessing. “Your Avenger friends tell me it was _you_ who turned the tide of the battle.” She extends a hand toward him in greeting, the beads on her bracelet inscribed with glyphs like the ones glowing bright from the chamber’s golden columns—bastions of strength between the high ceilings and glass floors. “I must thank you.”

Thor clasps it, brief and polite. “I only wish I could have done more,” he says solemnly, recalling his failure to take Thanos’ head. 

“This is Princess Shuri,” Steve interrupts, as if he can read the flow of Thor’s thoughts. “The…ruler of Wakanda now?” he adds, hesitant, glancing quick between Ramonda and Shuri for confirmation. 

“ _Acting_ ruler,” Shuri says, with a curious confidence. “My brother will return.”

Ramonda, clad in black from head to toe, from the fabric scarf wrapping her hair to her flowing dress, in mourning for her son, does not appear to share her daughter’s unwavering belief. Takes her leave of them to her chambers with hardly more than a murmured goodbye, clearly ceding decisions to Shuri. 

Shuri, on the other hand, wears neither all black nor all red, colors customary for mourning for her people, as Steve explained to Thor earlier. Her attire is coloured red and white instead, a combination that resonates with Thor, for to him, they are fighting colors, like his own.

“I am not in mourning,” Shuri says, catching Thor staring. “My brother _will_ return. But we will speak of that soon enough.” She invites Thor to take a seat, finding one of her own as well, even as she pointedly avoids taking the largest, most well-adorned chair, one circular in nature with two proud, curved horns flanking the backrest. 

_The throne of the king_ , Thor recognizes, immediate. He settles into a chair not far from Shuri, wondering at her strange optimism, as Steve, Natasha and Rhodey take seats to his left. Bruce reclines in the chair to Thor’s right—a small comfort, for Bruce had been on the Sakaaran ship with him, had lived through the horror Thanos inflicted upon them. 

Rocket—who had informed Thor that their lost friend was named _Groot_ , and friends remembered other friends’ _actual_ names—squeezes between Thor and Steve, sudden, with a _hey, how ya doin’_ and a tiny stool he has snatched from who knows where. Steve blinks, stunned, perhaps at the sight of a talking creature, but nods all the same, while Thor simply smiles, relieved at the presence of another friend. Squeezes Rocket’s paw, a return of the comfort he received for Loki. 

The others talk amongst themselves, Wakanda’s tribal council members’ conversation a thinly-veiled panic about the fate of their country now, and Steve and Natasha about what to do regarding the dead. But Thor finds himself restless instead, wanting to do _something_ , to take action. And he does not have long to wait, for a respectful hush falls as soon as Shuri rises from her seat, just right of the throne.

“I thank you all for attending this council, even in the face of such loss,” Shuri starts, when the murmurs have quieted and she commands the attention of all those in the chamber. “I have called this meeting from what survivors we have left of Thanos’ actions, to discuss the next steps we should take.” 

She meets the gaze of each person seated, including Okoye to her right, a fierce mother hen if Thor has ever seen one, though her demeanour makes sense, especially if Shuri is the last heir of her line. There are guards too, scattered secret between the chamber’s immense pillars, but fewer than there should be for any royal palace, an occurrence Thor can only attribute to Thanos’ annihilation.

“Maybe we could have a memorial,” Natasha ventures, in the absence of other suggestions. “For the dead.”

 _A memorial_. The words sit like cold ash in Thor’s belly, the very idea of it a reminder of what he had lost. A muddled mosaic of images floods Thor’s mind, of Loki cold and unmoving before him, the vicious memory that no amount of tears would bring him back, and the anguishing thought that Thor had failed to bring Loki’s body back once again. He could not send it off to Valhalla in a blaze of glory, for he did not even have Gungnir in his possession to do so. Nor had he ash of him, or an urn to keep his remains, keep him close—

“I appreciate the idea,” says Shuri, acknowledging the suggestion with a nod. “But no, we will _not_ be having a memorial. We will be bringing those we have lost _back_.” Her fierce determination is what shakes Thor from his stupor, stirring the ashes of his own fiery resolve.

“But _how_?” Bruce asks, voicing the sentiment for him and Thor both. 

Just then, there is a melodic hum, the sound emanating from the gleaming black beads wound around Okoye’s wrist. _Kimoyo beads_ , Steve had called them.

Okoye arcs her wrist, graceful, one of the beads rolling gentle into her palm. A small array of what appear to be sand particles issues from the bead, coalescing into an image of one of the Dora Milaje. Warriors so like the Einherjar in discipline and demeanour that Thor could weep at yet another reminder of what he had lost.

“Ayo?” Utter joy spreads across Okoye’s face, her stern expression broken sudden by her smile, perhaps in relief her comrade had been spared. She murmurs her gratitude to a being named _Bast_ before clearing her throat. “Report,” she says curtly.

“We have just received word of a small, unidentified spacecraft approaching our airspace,” says Ayo. “They seek permission to land.”

“ _More_ of Thanos’ allies?” Okoye’s eyes blaze. “How did they find us?”

“The pilot claims they intercepted a message sent to a ship belonging to one of Thanos’ allies. One that told them of the rendezvous point for battle—the coordinates of which lead here, to Wakanda.” Ayo pauses, considering. “But the two people aboard _this_ craft claim to be the Captain’s friends. A…Tony Stark? And a Nebula?”

“Tony?” Steve sits up straighter, immediate. “Yeah, he was…” The breath Steve draws is small and soft. “He _is_ a friend.”

“Tony Stark?” Shuri echoes, her interest piqued. “ _The_ Tony Stark? Yes, he will be a worthy addition to our council. Have him and his companion sent here at once.”

Okoye acknowledges this order with a nod—a sound one, for more allies can only be a boon, more friends to stand against the darkness. “Allow them to land,” she commands. “And when they disembark, escort them to the throne room immediately.”

“Yes, General,” Ayo confirms, before Okoye terminates the call, the bead in her palm rejoining the others on her wrist.

Tony arrives shortly after, dishevelled and worse for wear, accompanied by a woman whose body entire appears augmented by machinery. Both are flanked on either side by one of the Dora Milaje, but this does not seem to deter Steve in the least.

“Tony!” Steve calls, springing from his seat, before slowing his approach, hesitant. Holds out his arms for an embrace, and though Tony falls back, reluctant, crushes him to his chest all the same.

“What…what’s this for?” Tony asks stiffly. 

“I’m just glad I haven’t lost another friend today,” says Steve. Before Tony can ask him to elaborate, Steve adds, “Where’ve you _been_ this whole time?” He holds Tony by the shoulders at arm’s length, but seems unwilling to release him. “Last I heard on the news, you were M.I.A. Or should I say, M.I.S.?”

The words draw a faint twitch of grin from Tony. “Missing In Space? Yeah, believe me, it drove me _nuts_ , not knowing where we _were_ half the time.” He jerks a nod in his companion’s direction. “Good thing Nebula here knows her way around ships of all sorts. And the operation of them. Oh, and let’s not forget the navigation of them through—what, miles?—of endless space.” Tony shivers at the recollection.

“You’re not so bad at it yourself,” Nebula replies brusquely, as she inspects their surroundings, a response Tony beams at, approving.

“It was _her_ rig we used to get back here,” Tony continues, giving credit where it is due, “even if we had to scavenge a few parts from the ship I commandeered from Thanos’ creepy little evangelist. But it looks like we were late to the party anyway.” He stops to take a breath, seeming to finally take stock of his location. “I know we had coordinates, but what _is_ this place? _Where_ is it?” Tony pauses. “And why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s nothing,” says Steve, his smile entirely too fond. “I just…I’m remembering why—”

“Why we fought?” Tony bristles, instantly on the defensive. “Why you—”

“Why I missed you,” Steve finishes, stunning Tony into a wordless silence.

Thor matches Steve’s smile with one of his own, relieved to see that in the multitude of partings only short hours ago, there is at least one joyful reunion among them. For though Steve had spoken to Thor of his falling out with Tony in the intervening time, it seems they are able to reconcile, at least for now, against a common enemy. Thor himself claps Tony on the shoulder, once Steve has deigned to release him, only too grateful for another friend spared from Thanos’ tragedy. 

“Good to see you again, big guy,” Tony nods. He raises a brow as his gaze wanders over Thor’s shorn hair and his mismatched eye, though he does not make mention of such changes for now.

“I would say the same,” says Thor, “though I wish our reunion could have been under better circumstance.” Warmth threads through his heart at the way Tony pats his hand, gentle, in commiseration. 

At Shuri’s suggestion, now that they have all gathered, everyone in the council is briefed on Thanos’ purpose with the Infinity stones. His penchant for invasion and the bringing of ‘balance’ by annihilating half of a planet’s population. His accomplishment of such a thing with the gathered stones—on a _universal_ scale, they discover—this revelation complemented by reports of what happened in the battles on Titan and Midgard, and a recounting of whom among their comrades they lost. 

Thor himself shares what transpired aboard the Sakaaran vessel, before his arrival on Midgard, when he and the other Asgardians ran afoul of Thanos—though he does not speak of Loki’s fate. This, he leaves to Bruce, who can corroborate Thor’s account, and who tells of it rather kindly, amid less sympathetic whispers of _wait, Loki was alive all along?_ and _does that mean he died…again?_

“Uh…yes?” Bruce tries. He presses a hand to Thor’s shoulder, easing the leaden lump forming in Thor’s throat, as he says his next words. “But it might be for real this time.”

Thor passes this comfort on to Rocket, who holds his head in his paws, murmuring _no, no, no, I should’ve gone with them_ , at Tony’s confirmation that he encountered Rocket’s remaining friends on Titan. Watched them all meet the same fate as those they lost here, before adding, whisper-quiet, that he too had lost someone—a child named Peter. 

In the wake of such findings, they are all left in a dejected silence, each of them having suffered a loss; Shuri, her brother T’challa, whom she seemed adamant she would bring back; Steve, a friend named Bucky; Rocket, his partners in crime and perhaps even his family, and Thor, who had lost— _no_ , he would not think about that. He _would_ bring Loki back, the same conviction burning in his heart as Shuri.

As always, it is Tony who is first to bring them a faint ray of hope, despite his own grief.

“Here’s the thing,” he says, breaking the silence. “That happened. We couldn’t stop it. But the question is, what do we do _now_? We can’t let Thanos run free, or he’ll do this again, to other people, other _worlds_.” He pauses to draw a breath, his eyes closed brief to compose himself, before speaking again. “And we can’t let who he’s taken stay gone forever.”

“No, that we cannot,” Shuri determines, grim, taking the opportunity to press forward with her suggestion before Tony’s arrival. “So the solution I propose is this: we bring _back_ those we have lost. And we _kill_ Thanos.”

Those are lofty aspirations, to be sure, a belief shared by all those in the council, judging by their silence. But before Thor can ask for details, Bruce beats him to it. “See, that brings me back to my question from before. _How_?”

“Well,” Tony says, catching the gaze of each in the council, “what’ve we got to work with?”

“I’ll tell you what we _don’t_ have,” says Steve. “We don’t have the Time stone, to reverse what Thanos did, because last I saw, Thanos still had it.”

An eternal guilt coils low in Thor’s belly at that; if only his strike had been a hand’s breadth higher, if only he had thought to cleave Thanos’ head from his shoulders, and prevented that ill-fated finger snap—then Bruce’s hand alights on his shoulder, steady, accompanied by a shake of his head. As if to warn Thor not to blame himself, for that is a slippery slope from which he may never return. 

Tony jabs the air with a finger, undaunted by this pessimism. “ _Time_. Right, okay, about that—I’m glad you brought it up. Because that’s something we can work with. Or _reminds_ me of something we can work with, anyway. May I?”

Shuri lends him the tablet in her possession, and with several quick swipes of his finger, Tony brings up a miniature holographic schematic, one he magnifies for the council to see with a flourish of his hand. “Allow me to introduce,” he says, rotating the schematic of the complex-looking technology for effect, “my brainchild. Idea. Whatever. I call it…B.A.R.F.”

 _Unfortunately named_ , Loki had said of this apparatus. Thor twitches a melancholic smile at the memory.

“What’s B.A.R.F. stand for?” Tony continues, pacing a circle around the seated council members, as though he is a schoolteacher. “Binarily Augmented Retro Framing.” He says this as though it is supposed to mean something, but when he is met with blank looks in return, Tony huffs, incredulous. “Really? Did _none_ of you catch my presentation at M.I.T. on this tech? Thanks for the support, guys.”

“I saw it!” Shuri beams, earning her a beam back from Tony, before clarifying, “via stream.” She weathers Tony’s sigh of disappointment before adding sunnily, “ _But_ I have the introductory materials and a copy of your presentation downloaded _here_.” With a few quick flicks of her fingers on the tablet, she brings up another set of files, one of which Tony plucks from the screen, and magnifies into an interactive holographic interface with a wave of his hands. A simpler one than the first he had shown them. 

“Okay, so here’s the crash course,” says Tony. “This baby right here? Is used to work through traumatic memories, _but_ with the caveat that it doesn’t change _actual_ events.”

He explains how this technology works in conjunction with different parts of the brain, locating such harrowing memories and creating a vision in the user’s mind of a gentler, happier outcome. Projecting this onto an external infrastructure, that one might find solace in their interaction with these altered realities. 

But Thor fails to see how it can change their present circumstances, for in its current capacity, it functions as no more than a machine for wishful thinking. Finds himself relieved when Bruce interrupts Tony’s spiel of _not on the market yet, new_ , and _features still in the works_ with, “Sounds great, Tony, but how’s it supposed to help _us_?”

Tony huffs at the interruption, but acknowledges the question, as many seem to share this sentiment. “Since you asked, I’ll go ahead and say it: it’s dangerous, it’s unheard of, but I believe that with a few minor—okay, I won’t lie—a few _major_ adjustments, this _might_ have the capacity to change actual events. Making the projected memories into reality. It just…might take a few days.” He thins his lips at the multitude of hopeful faces turned toward him. “To lower the margin of error? More like a few weeks.” 

The council seems to sigh as one, their mood deflated, before Shuri clears her throat.

“Actually,” she says, “I have been tinkering with this as a pet project for a while, and I have some modifications in mind already. Ones that allow us to return to brief moments in time, and with _certainty_ , change actual events.” At the murmur of wonderment that ripples through the council and Tony’s own shocked, disbelieving awe, Shuri adds, “I _may_ have secretly poked around in the source files. To _improve_ upon the design.” She tilts her chin up, daring. “Is that not what science is all about?”

Tony’s eyebrows climb even higher, for ‘secretly’ suggests Shuri had achieved this through less than legal means. “When this is all over, young lady, we’re going to have a _talk_ about this.” He attempts a tone of deep disapproval, before giving up the charade and grinning, suitably impressed.

Ever pragmatic, Steve presents the first plan of attack having this technology will allow them. “If this machine does what Shuri says it can, we could use it to send us back and destroy the Mind stone before Thanos completes his gauntlet.” 

“ _No_ ,” Nebula says, curt, the first she has spoken in this council. “Send us back to the time when our party was on Titan. When we were about to take the _entire_ gauntlet from him.” She sits back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “No stones, no problem.”

“Yeah, okay, all great ideas,” Tony says, placating, “since we _need_ an exact moment to return to, that’ll help us win this war. Except for two things.” He pokes two fingers into the air, before reluctantly adding a third. “ _Three_ things, actually—see, you guys really have to wait for me to get to the limitations of this thing—the first of these being that B.A.R.F only works with one person. The interface simply isn’t designed to search through memories of multiple people.” At Shuri’s discreet hand signal, Tony amends, “Maybe two, at most. But you’ve got to consider that two people will still have different memories of the same event.”

“Couldn’t we just do multiple trips of two?” says Steve. “And meet up at a certain rendezvous point?”

“You can’t just…yank the interface off whoever’s using it, and put it on someone else.” Bruce’s reply is patient, even as Tony’s mouth drops open in an incredulous _o_. “It doesn’t work that way. Besides, time travel is an inexact science. Even if we _could_ send two of us at a time, without years’ worth of calculations, we’d all end up days, or even _years_ apart, making our time jumps ineffective.” 

“There is also the fact that the more people we send, the more anomalies we create,” adds Shuri. She pauses, abridging this for Steve and the rest who are not scientifically inclined as, “Rips in space and time—in other words, damage. Too many of these, and we risk creating a _cascade_ of failures across the timelines.”

While the others hurriedly discuss a similar notion called the _butterfly effect_ , Thor decides it goes without saying that they do not have years to reverse Thanos’ deeds. And even if the idea to send a group _did_ succeed, a venture avoiding tears in the fabric of space-time, he knows from experience—due to Loki’s skill with illusions—that multiples of the Avengers in any city are bound to make people talk. Even if they are lucky enough not to run into their past counterparts, who knew how much further this would contribute to the rifts Shuri speaks of?

 _No_ , they could not send a group of people, whether the Avengers were stronger together or not.

Tony nods his agreement in Bruce and Shuri’s direction. “Yep, all of that. Second of all, we’d need enough juice to bring whoever it is we sent, _back_. And right now this gadget’s optimized for fifteen to twenty minutes, tops. _Maybe_ thirty.”

A troubled quiet follows. It seems no one can think of a single, pivotal moment to send _one_ person back to that will change the course of this war, or what action they can take in such a limited amount of time.

 _We need a moment_ , Thor recognizes, _in which Thanos has not started his quest for the stones in earnest_. He does not yet speak, however, for though each fragment of his understanding is falling into place, he does not yet see the whole.

“What is the third limitation?” Shuri asks finally, when minutes pass and no one breaks the tombed silence that has fallen over them all. 

“Never thought about this before,” says Tony, “until I was M.I.S.—thanks for that, by the way,” he nods at Steve, “but this tech’s pretty much earth-bound. It was never built for the purpose of interstellar travel, and we don’t have ships of our own that can head to Titan at a moment’s notice.” He pauses, reflective. “We’d need the Space stone for that, which—correct me if I’m wrong—Thanos still _has_ , and even then, conditions for B.A.R.F. off-planet aren’t optimal.”

This last statement is a death knell for several in the council; Nebula slumps in her seat, her hope of returning to Titan dashed, and Thor swallows, tight, his own secret desire crushed—that of returning to Asgard, to turn Loki from his path of destruction, long before he had fallen into Thanos’ reach. 

But there are always other ways, other paths one might take, as Loki has long shown him. And in the course of this discussion, Thor has been listening, absorbing, and processing, much as he had done in Odin’s councils. 

His thoughts have led him to one solution, and though it is spurred by a deep and hollow selfishness, it remains prudent to him all the same: _The Space stone, from the Tesseract. Perhaps a chance at another stone as well—and one who would know how to wield them_.

“What if,” Thor says, the rumble of his voice commanding everyone’s attention at once, “we did not send someone back to simply _alter_ the past, but to bring something from the past _here_?”

Tony blinks. “That’s…different, okay. Keep talking—what’re you suggesting?”

“Using this apparatus, we can retrieve Loki from the moment our battle with the Chitauri drew to a close,” Thor explains. “We had the Space stone in our possession at the time, or were moments away from reclaiming it. And if my memory serves me correctly, the sceptre containing the Mind stone should be near it as well.” 

He pauses, heartened by the realization dawning in Tony’s eyes, before continuing. “Only _I_ would have to make the journey for this, for I have the particular memory of knowing Loki’s location, as well as that of his sceptre, and the Tesseract. One person, within minutes, and Earth-bound.” Thor fixes his gaze on Tony, Shuri, then Bruce, the major players in this venture. “All within the parameters of this technology, is it not?”

“Not bad,” Tony admits, nodding. “Out of that, we’d get two stones, and a batshit—”

“And a brilliant _tactician_ ,” Thor interrupts. Stressing this point so that none may accuse of him of suggesting this simply to see his brother again. 

“Still, we’ve _just_ gotten to the part about being able to return to the past to alter events,” says Tony. “Reliving certain occurrences. Changing what you _do_ , in the circumstances. But what you’re suggesting? That’s something completely different.” He mimes plucking something from mid-air and displacing it into another pocket of air. “You’re talking about taking _physical objects_ with you as you return, and I’m…not sure that’s possible.” Tony _hmms_ , contemplative, in the face of this conundrum, as if running through mental calculations, before turning to Bruce. “ _Is_ it possible?”

He and Bruce exchange a flurry of terms and numbers and something called _coefficients_ that no one can follow, until Shuri casts her eyes toward the ceiling. 

“Surely both of you realize that Mr. Stark’s technology only requires a quick reworking of the framework it uses for _projecting_ reality and instead using it to physically _recreate_ the unique atomic signature of the items in the present timeline, once removed from the past. I can easily rig something together that first reduces an object to its most basic form, then reproduces—” She pauses at the dumbstruck expressions both Tony and Bruce give her. “Are you following me so far? I am saying it _is possible_.”

Bruce shuffles his feet. “Yeah, I—I was just waiting for you to say it first.”

“Wow,” says Tony, once recovered from his speechlessness. “No one’s ever thought of rewiring B.A.R.F as a fancy three-dimensional printer, until now. I needed you for Stark Industries like, _yesterday_.”

“I am flattered,” Shuri beams, at Tony’s unmistakable approval. “But my place is here with my people.” 

“If we’re talking about bringing physical objects back,” says Steve, shattering that brief moment of warmth, “then by that logic, I could go back to when I was fighting Red Skull for the Tesseract. We’d get the Space stone, just like that.” 

“Just before you plunged into the deep freeze, you mean? No _thanks_ , Capsicle.”

Thor steps in before Steve and Tony’s fragile camaraderie can disintegrate. “The scenario you speak of only gives us one stone. Returning to an analogous moment—before our offensive against Ultron, wherein we had the sceptre with the _Mind_ stone—would again only give us possession of one stone, for by then, the Tesseract had already returned to Asgard.”

“And of the other stones we know about, the Power, Reality, and Soul stone, all of _those_ are off-planet,” Tony chimes in, citing B.A.R.F.’s third limitation again. “Which leaves us with...the Time stone if we can’t get the first two.”

“Okay, just an aside here,” says Rhodey, “why not use B.A.R.F. to return to a time where we can meet up with Strange and borrow the Time stone from him?”

“Because _one_ ,” Tony starts, “we all know what a tight-fisted son of a—” He backtracks quickly at the disapproving glares from elders of the council, at such words for a former ally. “Because as Nebula here can confirm, I was practically dying before he coughed it up. And _two_ , show of hands here, how many of you knew him before all this went down? Or remember meeting him before then? Because you can only go back to a moment that exists in your _memory_.” 

No one raises their hands. Perhaps many knew _of_ him, but had not been formally introduced. Bruce, for his part, murmurs that by the time he dropped in on Strange, in the most literal sense, Thanos’ plans had already been in motion. “Plus, I get the feeling he’s not fond of unexpected visits,” Bruce adds, sheepish.

This is a sentiment Thor echoes in his heart, though he keeps to himself his and Loki’s encounter with Strange months before this. The last time they met with Strange, the sorcerer had been ready to eject Loki from Midgard forthwith, calmed only by Thor’s explanations that they were simply searching for their father.

He would, without a doubt, refuse to part with the stone in his safekeeping. 

When no one speaks in the ensuing silence, Thor takes the hope he has held in his heart, the tightly guarded seed that has bloomed wild in his chest now—for his suggestion appears more plausible by the second—and puts it forth to the council again. “If we have no viable options to wrest the Time stone from Strange,” he says, taking advantage of the momentum this pause created, “then I say we move forward with my idea: to retrieve Loki and the stones shortly after the battle in New York.” 

And when all was said and done, either he or another of his comrades could return the stones with no one the wiser, and all would be as it should again.

There is no flaw in this solution; none that Thor can see. 

An outcry flares up then, arguments ranging from _we only need the stones, you don’t need to bring Loki back too_ and _who’s to say he’ll actually help us, instead of cutting loose and running with the stones?_ all of which Thor simply meets with, “We can have both the stones—and Loki, or we can have nothing at all.” He spreads his palms then. “My brother knows how best to utilize the power of the stones. Without him, we could well cause the collapse of this building—nay, this _city_ —a fate S.H.I.E.L.D’s first headquarters suffered. After all, using the stones is not as simple as…” Thor searches his memory for the appropriate analogy, “a point-and-shoot camera.”

Amid the fresh clamour that _surely_ several among them can figure out how to use the stones, Bruce clears his throat, the voice of reason that catches everyone by surprise, including Thor. “Actually, we could really benefit from Loki’s intellect.”

“Wait,” Steve cuts in, “maybe I’m remembering this wrong, but aren’t _you_ the one who said his mind was like a bag of cats?”

“I was, but he’s mellowed out now. You haven’t seen him in, what, six years? He’s—”

“Thor’s talking about bringing back catbag Loki, not mellow Loki.” Steve folds his arms over his chest. “In case you haven’t been listening.”

Thor barely quashes the growl rumbling deep in his chest, for Loki is _Loki_ , no matter whether his mind is a bag of cats, a pit of vipers, or whichever vicious animal they wish to liken him to.

“Still, catbag Loki _becomes_ mellow Loki,” Bruce soldiers on, determined, “so maybe—”

“You’re also forgetting the fact that Loki’s the one who brought the fight to Earth in the first place.” At the glare Thor levels at him, Steve only holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just trying to look at this from all angles.”

“You mean the attack on New York?” Bruce says, seizing the gauntlet Steve has thrown him. “No, _Thanos_ is the one who sent Loki, and—” he pauses to glance cautiously at Thor, “—I’m pretty sure under duress, actually.”

Bruce speaking in Loki’s defence like this warms Thor’s heart thoroughly. He can only be thankful that even within Bruce and Loki’s brief moments of conversation after escaping Asgard’s annihilation, Bruce had gained insight into the man Loki truly was. Had seen through the thin veneer of bravado Loki laid over his fear and pain, upon facing Thanos again.

Steve sighs, in the face of Tony, Bruce, and Shuri being in clear support of Thor’s plan. “Thing is, if we’re going to send Thor anyway—why not send him to the moment before he put his axe in Thanos’ chest? He could go for the head, finish Thanos off right then and there. One person. One memory. _And_ we’d have _all_ the stones. There's no need to draw a wild card and bring Loki into the mix.”

Thor draws a breath, fearful, sharp; even he has no riposte for such logical argument.

“No can do,” Tony says, immediate, dispelling the anxious clench of dread that had sprung instant in Thor’s chest. “That moment’s got too many micro-moments surrounding it, with the battle going on, and Thanos’ little lieutenants running loose. We need an easily isolated event. Even if Thor holds the memory he wants to go to in mind, we could just as easily send him to the moment right _after_ Thanos’ snazzy little snap.” Tony pauses. “The aftermath of the battle in New York, though? That’s a different story. Wormhole was closed by then, all the Chitauri were dead—we just needed the clean-up crews at that point.” 

Thor knows not whether to be thankful or frustrated that Tony’s technology has such severe limitations, but at the encouraging smile Tony turns his way, he releases the tight, rigid breath he had been holding. 

It seems that Tony and Bruce have, for the most part, won the uneasy support of the Avengers, and the only objections rise now from Wakanda’s own council, whose hushed whispers in their native language vary from _we place the fate of our king, our_ world _in the hands of this man? A man we have only met today?_ to _we should send one of our own for this task, not one of these_ —

“Thor is a king in his own right,” Shuri says aloud, for the benefit of those who do not speak Xhosa. “He has known loss, just as we have, and he will see this through.”

Thor tips a nod at her, grateful; he had not had trouble following their conversation, courtesy of the Allspeak, and while he found their remarks disparaging, he had remained silent, knowing all too well the importance of diplomacy while in a foreign land, being at the mercy of their technology and resources. 

More arguing ensues, in and among the gathered council, before Shuri rises to her feet, sudden. 

“Enough!” she bellows, with a volume that could rival Thor’s, her voice echoing through the chamber. She throws her hands into the air. “Every moment we spend arguing is another moment of not _knowing_ and not _doing_. I just want my brother back. And if Thor wants his brother back too, if this _Loki_ is someone who can help us, then I say we _do_ it.”

Shuri wields her authority like a knife, incisive and sharp, cowing all those opposed into a wordless shame. Only Steve dares speak in the hush that follows, with a stubbornness even Thor would admire him for, were he not the biggest opponent of Thor’s plan. “I get it, I _do_. But let’s be rational about this—”

“We tried rationality, Cap,” says Tony. “We tried bargaining too,” he adds, pointing to himself, perhaps a reference to Strange’s sacrifice for him, “which didn’t work out so well either, did it? So _maybe_ —and I know it’s a long shot—it’s sentimentality that wins the day.” 

Of _course_ Tony had guessed the ulterior motive behind Thor’s suggestion. As had all their friends, Thor supposes, though he does not quail in his chair from embarrassment, firm in his purpose.

“This is crazy,” says Steve, not mincing words. “This _plan_ is crazy.”

“Yeah? Well maybe crazy’s just what we _need_ ,” Tony shoots back. 

Thor, and it seems most of the council as well, must admit he makes a valid point. To fight the Titan’s madness, they need a madness of their own. 

In the uneasy lull that follows, Tony clasps his hands together. “Great, if we’re all agreed,” he says, ignoring the vague rumble that several are very much _not_ in agreement, for he has Shuri and Thor’s clear endorsement, “then let’s get started. Operation _Bring Back Your Dead_ commences _now_.”

“That’s not funny,” Steve admonishes, “even if that’s what we’re doing.” A sentiment Thor must side with, for it is an apt but crude name. Then Steve blinks, his expression brightening, minute. “Also, was that a Monty Python reference?”

Tony sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes, mumbling _he sees the light_ just as Shuri disapproves with a sniff, stating they are _both_ wrong, for the actual reference is in fact ‘ _bring_ out _your dead_ ’, along with the declaration that those gone are not dead, but simply lost. This spurs in turn yet another debate, this time over the semantics of _loss_ as opposed to _death_.

But all Thor can think of, even as the strange seeds of dispute sprout rampant around him, is that soon he will bring back _his Loki_ , no matter if he is lost or dead, and that is all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The idea of time travel causing damage, via tears in the fabric of space and time, is borrowed from the Doctor Who episode _The Name of the Doctor_.
> 
> 2) “… _even if they are lucky enough not to run into their past counterparts; who knew how much further this would contribute to the rifts Shuri speaks of?_ ”: Thor is reflecting here on the concept of a temporal paradox caused by meeting your past self. 
> 
> 3) Operation “Bring Back Your Dead” is a play on the phrase ‘bring out your dead’, used for collecting plague victims in the 1975 film _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_.
> 
>  **In the next chapter:** _Loki._


	2. Recover, Recuperate

~

Once the decision is made, things move quickly from there; Tony, Shuri and Bruce descend into Shuri’s laboratory in the depths of Mount Bashenga, readying supplies to modify a working prototype of B.A.R.F. Tony ordered flown in from New York.

Thor, who had tired of the ongoing debate in the throne room about repercussions for bringing back items, a whole _person_ from the past, or other moments to return to, events to alter without need for bringing past items _here_ —though no one could agree on _when_ —turns a deaf ear upon it. Takes his leave of the friends remaining in the council, and persuades one of the Dora Milaje to guide him to the kitchens to sate his hunger, before making his way to Shuri’s lab. 

The hard part was done, after all; he and those in agreement had convinced the council of the wisdom of bringing back the stones, along with one who knew how to wield them, and any argument against it was moot. In the absence of other viable solutions, Thor was going, whether they wished it or no. And with it came the opportunity to make right his grave wrong, hurts he caused in his failure to take Thanos’ life. To retrieve two of the stones that could help them win this war. And to see _Lo_ —

Thor does not let himself dwell on this last possibility, too familiar with how quickly hopes can be dashed and dreams crushed to dust. 

The first evening is uneventful, with Tony and Bruce taking Thor’s measurements, questioning him on that of Loki’s and the stones, and running the numbers through calculations that translate to Shuri’s recalibrations of the newly-arrived B.A.R.F. model. But by the next morning, when Thor is summoned to the lab—he had not slept well, knowing his friends were working tirelessly through the night—Tony greets him at the door, his hair singed, his eyes ringed dark, but his grin blindingly bright. 

“We _did_ it!” he says, clapping Thor on the shoulder, ushering him into the lab where Shuri and Bruce await them. “And I’m eighty percent sure it works. Eighty- _one_. I mean, we haven’t had a chance to run human trials yet, but we’re pretty sure we can send a corporeal body through the—” He stops speaking when Bruce throws him a pointed glare from across the room.

Thor is of the mind to ask what will happen in the event the twenty percent of uncertainty occurs, before Shuri guides him into a chair in the corner of the lab. Reels of coiled wire sprout wild from beneath it, and a makeshift digital panel is fused firmly to the arm. The chair’s crowning eyesore, a mess of circuitry at the headrest, is connected to three large tanks of luminescent liquid—perhaps the energy source for such a trek.

“You remember how this technology works, yes?” Shuri asks, careful. “From the council meeting yesterday?” When Thor is quiet for a beat too long in recalling, Shuri only smiles, encouraging. “You must hold the specific memory you wish to return to in your mind, before we can send your physical body there. From there, we will make the adjustments to accommodate the items you bring back.” 

She keys the date of New York’s battle into the panel, to guide Thor’s journey, he presumes, then holds out a simple headset. It is small and curved, one that fits behind the ear, not unlike the kind Tony had made for the Avengers to communicate on missions.

“You’re lucky Shuri modded the user hardware from a pair of thick lenses to that headset,” Tony pipes up. “There’s an implant on it that’ll connect with your brain, same as the glasses, but with the added advantage that it’ll let us know what your progress is too.”

Thor blinks at the tiny disc of vibranium soldered to the headset, and Shuri beams at his observation. “Yes, that is what will allow us to speak with you directly, even after you make your leap. It is also what stabilizes the amount of time you are allotted there, bringing the initial fifteen to twenty minute estimate to _thirty_ , easily.”

“How will I know how much time has elapsed?” Thor asks, puzzled. 

“Through this.” Shuri slips a bracelet much like her own onto Thor’s wrist, the glyphs on the beads glowing green. “I modified your Kimoyo beads to work outside Wakanda, and in fact, outside this _timeline_. I call them—” here her eyes take on a mischievous gleam, her voice a reverent whisper, “wait for it— _Remote Access_ Kimoyo beads.”

Tony heaves a sigh and casts his eyes skyward. “Skip the dramatics, kid. Just tell him what they do.” 

Shuri sniffs, at her chance to demonstrate her intellect and wit both cut short. “They are designed to interface directly with my sand table,” she nods toward her workstation, “showing _us_ how much time you have left—in case time flows differently there—as well as yourself.” 

She pauses to demonstrate with a projection from her own bracelet the different phases Thor must watch for. “You have thirty minutes in the temporal location you are sent to. If the glyphs glow green, you are within the first ten minutes allotted you. If they glow yellow, you have moved into the second set of ten minutes, meaning twenty minutes have elapsed. And if they glow red, you are ticking toward the last ten minutes. When they _flash_ red, however,” Shuri adds, “it means you are almost out of time.”

“I understand,” Thor nods, thankful for this explanation. It would not do to fail in his quest, simply because he was not keeping an eye on the time.

“You also understand what you need to do, right?” says Tony. “Find the stones, find Loki, don’t be seen by the past version of you? And please, _please_ don’t pick a fight with past you,” he adds, proof of how well he knows Thor’s mind, for Thor had briefly considered reprimanding the Thor of time past of his treatment of Loki.

That scenario that was likely to end in fisticuffs and accomplish nothing—if not cause outright disaster, as Shuri had warned. She had spoken of the possible foreboding effects of such contact, wherein if two of the same being occupied the same space, or initiated physical contact, the anomalous time-travelling version of himself might disappear. Or if Thor killed his past self in an accidental fury, his present self might cease to exist. Or Thor might be captured, interrogated, be forced to reveal too much of—

“ _Thor_.” Tony grips Thor’s shoulder, tight, making all thoughts of his mission’s perils fly from his mind. Swallows, hard, the sound audible even amid the _whirrs_ , key clicks and _beeps_ of the lab. “We’re…we’re all counting on you, bud.”

“I shall not fail you,” Thor nods, gripping Tony’s hand in turn. His fingers tighten over Tony’s, unflinching proof of his determination to see this through.

With such momentous conversations finished, Tony smiles brief in relief, and moves onto other matters, such as after-effects Thor might suffer from his temporal displacement. “Except I can’t even tell you what’s common,” Tony sighs, “since this has never been done before. At a guess, I’d say—maybe a headache? Dizziness? Nausea at worst, though let’s hope not.”

“Tony,” Thor laughs, “I have traveled by the Bifrost for long years, which is, in itself, a near-instant spatial displacement. This could be no worse.”

Tony nods as if this logic is sound, and heads toward a set of levers needing two people to operate, while Shuri makes minor adjustments at her monitor. “Remember, Thor, hold the moment you want to return to steady in your mind.” His voice is soothing, reassuring, through the mad flicker of the lab’s lights, the growing hum and drone of the machines surrounding them, as he and Bruce draw the levers down, simultaneous. “The exact moment. The _precise_ moment.”

For Thor, the moment he wishes to return to has never been clearer, one welling out deep from his heart to his mind, and he holds on, holds it tight, even as he gives over control to the threads of space-time weaving cool and quiet around him.

 _Wait for me, Loki_ , Thor thinks, fervent, the words a courage, a mantra in his mind. _I am coming to you_.

 _And this time, I shall not fail you_.

~

The first thing Thor discovers, upon his abrupt arrival, is that temporal displacement is a thousand times _worse_.

Not only has he been spat out unceremonious on rough concrete, skimming his palms in the process, but the journey leaves Thor with his head swimming and the world spinning quick before his eyes, as he gasps for breath through bands iron-tight around his chest. He had not questioned the process by which this temporal travel occurred, or the transfer of his corporeal body into this time, but Thor suspects he had been disassembled on a molecular level, before being reassembled here _all at once_. 

Only the thought of _Loki, I must find Loki_ spurs him onward, quashes his urge to heave into the nearest waste receptacle, and he stumbles forward, hand braced hard against the nearest wall. 

“Tony?” he says, tapping his headset with his free hand, gentle. “Shuri? I have arrived. At least I _think_ I have.” Broken glass at his feet and the remains of dead Chitauri sprawled on the level below are evidence enough, and Thor continues on, heartened that Tony’s device worked, even if nothing but static returns through his headset. Perhaps the interface was altered to work outside Wakanda, but the communications function could not withstand the temporal change as well. 

A quick survey of his surroundings shows he has indeed returned to the moment he wished for: Natasha has just finished deactivating the Tesseract, and rejoined the other Avengers below, all of them crowded worried around Tony after his hurtling return through the wormhole. Leaving Loki unattended, and both the sceptre and Tesseract guarded by an easily-swayed Selvig. Too early, and the fight against the Chitauri would rage on still; too late, and the Thor of this time would be returning with Loki and the Tesseract to Asgard, and their chance would be lost. 

Part of Thor wants to confront his past self, to berate him for what a _fool_ he had been, what a _child_ , especially when it came to Loki—but that would raise too many questions, and what Thor intends here is greater than that age-old quarrel. With that thought in mind, he keeps to the shadows, not letting himself be seen by any of the past Avengers. 

Though his greatest desire is to see to his brother first, brutal pragmatism wins out here, and Thor heads toward the Tesseract straight away, for they have no chance of winning their war without it. It is the work of a mere moment to convince the newly-woken Selvig, his mind addled by the Mind stone for long days, to simply _hand_ Thor the Tesseract and the sceptre, which he secrets away promptly, in a protective carrier of Shuri’s making. 

_My hair?_ Thor says, upon being questioned. _The Chitauri tore it from me in battle. Oh, this axe? One of theirs_. And when he has made small talk enough to escape suspicion, Thor makes his exit without delay, only too glad he does not have to take the items by force, and that Natasha left both stones in Selvig’s safekeeping to see to Tony’s well-being down below. 

With both stones in his possession, Thor sets off to find Loki at once. Finds him—just as he had the first time—not far below in the Avengers tower, in a mess of shattered glass, tile and siding scattered jagged, fractured around him. Struggling to sit up from the hollow of unforgiving concrete where Bruce’s Hulk had smashed him, his breathing unsteady, uneven, a worrying wheeze issuing from his chest. 

The sight of his brother, alive, in motion, and _breathing_ is so overwhelming that Thor drops Stormbreaker at his feet, leaving himself unarmed, vulnerable, to rush to Loki’s side.

“Oh, _Loki_ ,” he whispers. His brother needs healing, immediately, and not for the first time, Thor regrets he had not given more attention to the healing arts. A measure of shame threads through his heart, too, at the thought that last time, he had _left_ Loki like this—broken, wounded—towering over Loki with his new friends, their weapons trained on him, unforgiving.

And Loki had found no mercy at Thor’s feet.

Thor clasps Loki’s hand now, his back, heedless of the blood slicking his palms as he helps Loki sit up. And perhaps Loki himself is in a similar shock, too startled to shake Thor off, for he allows it, this gesture, this kindness. 

“Loki,” Thor whispers, dizzy with delight from the warmth of Loki’s palm, the heat seeping from his skin beneath cloth. “ _Loki_.” 

The urge to throw arms around him, in an embrace full, encompassing, and _snug_ , to never let him go _again_ rises deep from Thor’s heart. But he holds himself back, knowing how easily Loki startles. Settles for reaching out, cradling Loki’s cheek in his palm, gentle. Carding fingers through his hair. For Loki is a miracle, a wonder to behold, no matter that his hair is rough from lack of care, his cheeks smudged with grime, body crossed with welts and wounds from hurts he should never have suffered to begin with.

And the greatest wonder is that Loki accepts it, these affections, each small and desperate and worried, leans _into_ them, for fractions of a second—before gathering himself all at once. 

“ _Thor_ ,” he says, sounding every ounce imposing, as if Thor had not just caught him crawling out from a defeat, causing Thor himself to startle. “Yes, of _course_ I recognize you. How many other muscle-bound oafs exist in this universe, after all? And how many of _those_ would dare be so familiar with _me_?”

At Loki’s impertinence, Thor huffs a sound between laughter and a sob, for he has missed this—Loki’s sass, Loki’s edges; he has missed Loki so _much_. A tear crests his cheek, unbidden, from happiness and relief both, then another, Loki studying the part of his armour where they impact, a drip of staccato wetness, thoughtful.

“Tears?” Loki murmurs, in surprised disbelief. “For _me_?” And though the suspicious furrow in his brow still remains, Thor’s outpour of emotion softens the sharp lines around Loki’s mouth. “What happened to your hair?” he asks finally, when Thor cannot speak, only too grateful to hold Loki in his arms again. His tone is gentled, unexpected. “And your eye?” He reaches out, trembling, fingers ready to brush against such features, before snatching his hand back, instant. As if annoyed at having shown such worry, unwitting. “And…” Loki pauses, considering. “And Mjölnir?” 

He lifts a brow at the sight of Stormbreaker, and though he does not voice the words, his expression speaks volumes alone: _what abomination is_ this?

“Mjölnir is…” Thor tries, swallowing, tight, at the memory of his dearest weapon destroyed. “Mjölnir lies in ruins, and Asgard shares its fate. Our people have perished—not only ours, but on other realms besides, and I—” The beads at his wrist pulse a noise, a soft note of warning, the glyphs upon them glowing red. “I can explain the circumstances under which they occurred,” Thor amends quickly, “but I have not time left enough here to do so. Would you help me right that, Loki?” He draws a breath, shaky, hopeful all at once. “Would you come with me?”

“I am _not_ ,” Loki sniffs, incredulous, sufficiently recovered from his shock, “going _anywhere_ with you.” With that, he attempts to stand, wincing as his knee gives out beneath him, in betrayal. And when Thor moves too sudden, to support him, Loki hisses, sending a blade toward Thor’s side. 

The attempt is half-hearted at best, for Thor anticipates it, catching the blade mid strike, blood trickling crimson-bright from his fingers.

“Let us not do this,” says Thor, quiet, laying the blade to the side. And because he knows lies and half-truths will not win him his brother’s trust, Thor draws the truest, most honest words from his heart. “Loki, please. I need you.” _In more ways than you shall ever know_.

“I see you have not outgrown your habit of seeking me out only when you have need of me,” Loki says wryly. “Things must _truly_ be dire.” Despite the harshness of his words, he still leans heavy against Thor, taking his warmth, his assistance. Presses a hand to the wound on his own side, blood seeping wet and dark over his fingers. Bites back a whimper as he shifts into a more upright position.

Thor winces; he had not seen that injury either, the first time around. Had not even known to _look_.

He wishes he had come in time to convince Loki not to open the wormhole. To assure him that he was indeed loved and adored, and all the things he had desired from Thor at the start, things Thor was too blind to see until now. But this is the moment his friends have given him, and Thor must make the best of it, for he remembers too well the sight of his brother dead before him, cannot allow it to _happen_.

If soft words and affections will not win him Loki’s accompaniment to the future, he will do what he must.

“We could stay here and argue, until the other Avengers come for you,” Thor says. Letting the hard edge of threat creep into his voice, as much as he hates it. “Until the Thor you know comes to take you back to Asgard in chains. And fool that he is—that _I_ was,” Thor amends, knowing Loki’s sharp mind will not fail to catch his meaning, “he will allow you to be incarcerated, in accordance with Odin’s wishes.”

“Incarcerated,” Loki murmurs, bitter. “Of course he would. If _Odin_ willed it so.”

Thor presses his advantage, immediate. “Come with _me_ , Loki,” he says. He does not say _come home_ , not missing the way Loki’s eyes widen at the implication. “Where I wish to take you, there are healers. And sustenance.” Loki could not have been living well the past few weeks, his entire being bent toward the invasion of Midgard. _And the affection you crave so dearly_ , Thor does not add aloud. “There will be time for you to rest.”

“Rest,” Loki sighs, his voice soft, eyes fluttering shut, as if the very thought of it is a luxury long-missed. He could not have had much of that either, Thor thinks, his heart clenching tight in his chest. 

Still, Loki remains hesitant. “And this battle?” he asks, sounding smaller, vulnerable, in a way Loki should never be. “This battle will cease to exist?” His voice is so full of fragile hope that Thor cannot help but recall Loki’s words when last he confronted Loki on this tower’s rooftop. _It is too late_ , Loki had whispered, tremulous. _It is too late to stop it_.

Thor shakes his head, regretful. “This battle will come to pass. What we must do now is prevent the _war_ —which, in the future, Thanos has already won.”

“Thanos has _won_?” Loki echoes, a new terror springing to his eyes. “How did that—”

“Together, we can change that,” Thor says, urgent. He glances at the beads on his wrist, the glyphs flashing red now, the beads themselves pulsing quick and angry beats, both of which spell that their time here draws to a close. “Loki, please,” he whispers. “Trust in me. Just this once.”

Something in Thor’s expression, or perhaps the desperation in his voice—the tremble of it, unwitting, the way it breaks on _Loki, please_ —must convince him, for though his hand wavers as he reaches out, Loki clasps Thor’s hand all the same, just as their surroundings twist away, blurring, bending out of shape, and the familiar threads of space-time weave around them once more.

~

The return journey is more agonizing than the first, and Thor nearly doubles over from searing pain and disorientation upon their arrival. Clutches his chest at the arc of white fire cleaving him from shoulder to belly. Loki’s own hurt whimper rends Thor’s heart deeper, however, steeling his resolve, for the journey could only have been that much harder for Loki, injured as he is.

“Loki,” he rasps, reaching out to gather his brother in his arms, to comfort, to reassure. “It is over. We have made it.” He allows Loki moments to catch his breath, waiting for his shivering gasps to taper into small, hitched huffs, during which Thor takes stock of their surroundings. 

They have not returned to Shuri’s underground lab, or the council room, but a space several feet from the Citadel’s main doors. That they were able to return within the city proper Thor considers a miracle in itself, for Tony’s B.A.R.F. technology was operating on inexact measurements, parts of their theory based on guesswork, and all of it done with only the supplies and knowledge they had on hand. 

One of the Dora Milaje stationed at the doors spots them, and within short minutes, Shuri is notified of their arrival— _Thor Odinson, with…guest and requested objects_ , the warrior reports—and two of their number guide Thor and Loki into the palace. 

The urgency of their situation dictates that Thor should bring Loki to the council room first, but he has them direct him to the healers instead, looping Loki’s arm over his shoulder and guiding his path. When, with every step, Loki slumps further, his frame slipping from Thor’s grasp, Thor thinks better of it and scoops Loki into his arms instead. It is a testament to Loki’s exhaustion and injuries that he does not fight the motion; only sighs, small and wistful, and tucks his face into Thor’s shoulder. 

“You are safe here,” Thor whispers, hitching Loki higher in his arms. “We are among friends.” And because he cannot help himself, cannot hold back the flood of emotion spilling over—Loki was _safe_ , Thor had seen to it himself, his quiet, shivering breaths against Thor’s neck proof of that—he drops a kiss to Loki’s hair, small and soft. Thanks the Norns, silent, at being able to _do_ such a thing again, however simple.

The Dora Milaje guide Thor away from Wakanda’s Medical Center and toward Shuri’s laboratory instead— _for who better to heal such injuries, than our own queen?_ one of them beams—where he finds Tony and Shuri awaiting them. Shuri has readied an oblong panelled stretcher in advance, and Thor nods at Tony, grateful for his forethought at Loki’s condition when he was retrieved. 

“I have the stones here,” says Thor, turning so Tony can access the carrier, the sceptre and Tesseract encased snugly within. Knowing the sceptre’s effects now, the sooner Loki is out of its realm of influence, the better.

“Looks good,” Tony says. “I _knew_ you’d come through for us.” He pats Thor’s shoulder, careful to dodge Stormbreaker’s blade, from where Thor stowed the weapon between his back and the carrier for the return journey. Spends only a moment confirming the carrier’s contents, before waving Thor off. “I’m going to take these to the next floor to analyze them with Bruce. But you? You go on and spend some time with your brother. You’ve earned it.” 

Tony takes his leave of them then, and Thor lays Loki on the stretcher Shuri prepared for him, gentle. 

Shuri, for her part, appears undaunted, as if the sight of injured passing through her research chambers is common occurrence. Punches the air with a victorious “ _Yesss_ , another broken white—” halfway between delight at the thrill of discovery and curiosity, before catching Thor’s stricken expression, at her offhand assessment of Loki’s injuries. “I mean,” Shuri coughs, reining in her joy, immediate, “another _princeling_ to mend.” 

She turns then to ready what appear to be diagnostic machines on the side, keying in codes, the faint _whirr_ of them coming to life strangely calming. 

“Where am I?” Loki murmurs, his eyes half-lidded, the circles ringing his eyes too dark against pale skin. In the silence of the lab, the breath he draws carries less of a wheeze than before, but remains an ill sign all the same. “What is this place?”

“Hush, Loki,” Thor says, quiet. “You are in good hands now.” Folds Loki’s hand into his to calm him as Shuri performs her diagnostics. Brushes a kiss over his bruised knuckles, soothing. Shuri raises a brow at the gesture but stays silent, and Thor does not elaborate. “Can you help him?” he asks, anxious, after minutes tick by and they are subject only to Shuri’s thoughtful _hmms_ and reflective _I see_ ’s.

“Patience,” says Shuri. “I must finish my diagnostics first. Is there not a saying of, ‘if it is not broken, do not fix it’? I must treat the right things.” She waves a hand over Loki, the beads at her wrist appearing to do a comprehensive scan that supplements the tests she has finished. “Oh,” Shuri says faintly, at the results. “That…that is a great many things.”

She plucks the diagram she examines from her beads, as one might remove a file from a sheaf of papers, and magnifies it, rotating it toward Thor for his benefit. This one appears to show Loki’s skeletal structure, and the first thing Thor notices is the red _everywhere_ within the otherwise white bone display. 

“How…” Thor swallows, tight, hoping the diagram does not mean what he thinks. “How would one interpret this display?”

“Your brother has broken bones here, here, and _here_ —followed by fractures all along here,” Shuri outlines, each specific section pulsing with a faint glow as she points to it. “Frankly, I am amazed he was walking at _all_ , after these injuries.” From her laboratory, she must have seen Loki’s limping gait down the halls, before Thor carried him the rest of the way. “I can only imagine what happened to cause such injury,” she adds, shaking her head. “Whoever it was, they did quite the number on him.” 

Perhaps Hulk had been responsible for the majority of such injuries, but shame twists hard in Thor’s heart, at the fact that he had a hand in this as well. And that was to say nothing of the fact that last time, he had brought Loki like this—bound and gagged, to boot—before the Allfather, to pass judgement. 

“Let me see, where to start with his treatment…” Shuri says to herself, stirring Thor from his thoughts. She taps her chin, thoughtful. “It seems any open wounds have knitted themselves shut, but Loki _has_ lost a lot of blood. Perhaps a transfusion?”

“Take _my_ blood,” Thor cuts in, desperate. “Take all of it. Drain me _dry_ if you must.” He cannot lose that which he has fought so hard for so soon. 

“ _Fool_.” Loki stirs weakly from the stretcher. “Your blood will not work. Or have you forgotten that I am not _Asgardian_?” 

Too late Thor recalls Loki’s heritage, and the fact that Jotunheim would be unlikely to part with even a single drop of blood, especially for one who tried to destroy their realm short years ago. And if they were back on Asgard, Thor would have begged an apple of Iðunn, to improve Loki’s condition, immediate—but both realms are inaccessible to them now, due to their follies and foolishness.

Perhaps a measure of Thor’s anguish appears in his expression, for Shuri waves away the notion of a transfusion, quick. “No matter,” she says easily. “We can replace his volume with fluids; the process will only take a little longer.” And when she has connected Loki to the proper fluids, each _drip_ that flows into his veins a drop of reassurance into Thor’s soul for Loki’s well-being, Shuri nods, satisfied. “Now I can work on mending his bones.”

With that, she reaches for a baton-shaped instrument, and after keying a sequence of numbers into the interface her Kimoyo beads bring up, rests it upon Loki’s shoulder. His ribs. Runs it along his hip, the baton emitting a pleasing rumble all the while. 

“What is _this_?” Thor demands, suspicious. “What are you doing to him?” His hand darts out to still Shuri’s, but Loki is quicker, catching Thor’s wrist mid-air.

“Be calm, Thor,” Loki murmurs, even if his eyes remain closed. “It simulates the purr of a cat, which at certain frequencies, promotes the healing and strengthening of bones.” He smiles, beatific. “Brilliant.”

“I _like_ him.” Shuri grins, broad, suggesting this is the exact mechanism of the instrument in her hands. “Were you a healer, where you were both from? A scientist?”

Loki appears to have exhausted his last reserves of energy, or perhaps wishes to focus on healing, as he simply sighs, soft and small, his brow furrowed as Shuri slides the baton to his knee. But he squeezes Thor’s fingers, light, with the hand Thor has kept captive, as if to let him answer for Loki. 

“Loki was…” Thor tries, shuffling through the deceptions and half-truths that come to him, before opting for outright honesty. “Loki’s myriad talents were not appreciated back in Asgard,” he says finally. “Least of all, by me.” Guilt settles low and heavy in his belly, a lump of cold coal. “But I resolve to do better from now on.” His gaze returns to Loki then. “I swear it, Loki. I _do_.” He presses another kiss to the back of Loki’s hand, to seal this declaration, this vow, sworn from the deepest depths of his being, the entirety of his heart.

That Loki does not draw away from this affection is encouraging indeed. And when Loki’s fingers twitch within his, the motion subtle, as if to convey that Thor’s words have been heard, and wary though Loki is, _received_ , Thor can only huff a laugh at the tiny gesture, relieved.

“Now then,” says Shuri, when she has finished her first pass at mending Loki’s bones, and tugged a light blanket to his shoulders, “allow me to check on _your_ condition.” A practiced glide of her finger over her beads summons another stretcher, one that nudges at the back of Thor’s knees, insistent. 

Thor remains standing, stubborn, even as weariness drags at his bones. “I am _fine_ ,” he says. “I would rather you see to my brother—”

“And I have,” says Shuri with an easy smile, though her obstinance matches Thor’s. “But none of us know the ill effects of time travel, and we need _everyone_ in top form for the battle to come.” Perhaps she catches the way Thor’s gaze lingers on Loki, or suspects her words have not moved his heart, for she adds, softer still, “I know you wish to watch over your brother. But you can only do so if you yourself are well.” 

That reasoning is all it takes for Shuri to wrangle Thor into the stretcher successfully, and subject him to the numerous scans she insists on to check the state of his health. 

The soothing hum of the machines Shuri uses is enough to lull Thor into a slumber of his own, fatigued from the temporal leap as he is. But even as his eyes drift shut, slowly, surely, Thor reaches across the way, bridging the scant distance between him and Loki. Curls his fingers back around Loki’s, keeping his gaze fixed on him, succumbing to sleep only when assured by the warmth of Loki’s fingers, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, that Loki is _here_ , Loki is safe, Loki is _healing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Art: [ “A Second Chance”](https://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y283/slamduncan21/stuff%20to%20ul%20to%20sites/VStudio%20-%20TT.jpg~original) \- Art Commissioned from VeggieStudio
> 
> I’m including these commissions for your fic enjoyment, so please don’t spread them around Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, or any other such social media. I’d really like to share the work of these amazingly talented artists, but if I find them appearing on such sites, I simply won’t post any more of them. Thanks for understanding!
> 
> 2) _“[The instrument] simulates the purr of a cat, which at certain frequencies, promotes the healing and strengthening of bones.”_ : Cats purring between 25 and 150 Hertz can, in fact, improve bone density and promote healing, which you can read more about [here](https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-do-cats-purr/)!
> 
>  **In the next chapter:** some sweet, sweet hurt/comfort. :)


	3. Cultivate

~

The next days are quiet, Shuri dedicated to their recovery, while Tony and Bruce continue their study of the stones in the upper levels of the research complex.

Thor, having memorized the kitchens’ location, convinces the cooks to slip some nut tarts into the trays meant for him and Loki, for the strict menu Shuri outlined for replenishing one’s blood supply contained only hot lentil soups, fried river fish, and cassava leaves, none of which appeased Loki’s sweet tooth. To Thor’s surprise, however, when Loki has recovered enough to sit up, with the nearest wall as a backing, he eats what Thor has brought him with little complaint. 

In fact, the only complaint Loki raises is that it is _Thor_ who feeds him. 

“I am no invalid,” Loki says sourly, when Thor raises a spoon of cooled lentil soup to his mouth, nudging it at his pursed lips, insistent. “It was only my leg and ribs that were broken, not my _hands_.” 

Thor sighs, expecting Loki to bat his hands away. But before he can withdraw the offer, Loki’s lips close around the spoon, slow, glancing up at Thor from beneath lowered lashes, the motion caught somewhere between shyness and seduction. “If you insist,” Loki says after swallowing, with a haughty little sniff Thor finds wholly endearing, “I suppose I shall simply have to suffer your efforts.”

“I _do_ insist,” Thor chuckles, his good humour returning, as he reaches for another spoonful of the soup.

It is not unlike when he had been a child and Loki a teething babe, when he had urged tiny spoonfuls of mashed peas or fruit into Loki’s mouth, only to have most of it end up on them both, regardless. Loki’s laughter a bright peal of unbridled delight, at the sticky mess they both became. 

His laughter is not so free and unguarded now, Thor laments, though the smile twitching at Loki’s lips when Thor reveals the tarts is prize enough for now. 

And when Shuri deems Loki’s injuries healed enough for him to attempt walking in the general vicinity—“You cannot lie here like a leaden lump, get _up_ ,” Shuri had chastised, Loki throwing Thor a look, betrayed, when Thor agreed, _the sooner you are up and about, the better_ —Thor suggests taking Loki to the baths, for a wash.

“Are you saying I sme—” Loki starts, affronted, before Thor catches his wrist, fingers winding around it, gentle, stunning Loki into silence.

“I am _not_ ,” Thor says stoutly. “I only recall how you enjoyed the baths scented with fragrant oils and flowers back on Asgard, and thought you might take pleasure from the same comforts here.”

Loki considers this for a moment. “Very well, then,” he says finally. Holds out his arms in a clear gesture of _carry me there_ , commanding as he had been as a child, when he would toddle toward Thor and demand _Up!_ bawling if Thor did not instantly comply. 

With Loki’s temper assuaged, Thor hefts Loki onto his back, grateful for the directions the Dora Milaje give him. Ignores their raised eyebrows and Shuri’s mutter of _you are not helping his healing by spoiling him_. 

“Keep your arms wound around me,” Thor reminds him, when Loki nearly slides from his grasp, too mesmerized by the halls they traverse. For he has seen little besides Shuri’s lab until now, craning his neck to take in the wonders of Wakanda’s palace, from the glowing glyphs carved into high walls, to the tapestries sprawled bold across them, each of colourful tribal designs, so different than what he must remember from Asgard. 

At present, motifs of the Golden Tribe far outweigh the others, their sigil of the sun—a proud royal purple on black—looming large over those of the Merchant, Mining, Border and River Tribes. A mural depicting the newly reinstated Jabari tribe stands half-finished, its craftsmen perhaps taken by Thanos' senseless crime, reminding Thor of what they have yet to achieve.

“I am not a child,” Loki grouses, when he has beheld wonder enough. Though by the way he nestles his face in Thor’s neck with a resigned sigh, his arms winding cautious around Thor’s shoulders, Thor can tell he at least accepts these attentions, even if not wholly revelling in them. 

They arrive at the guest baths, an open, spacious atrium, with large curved struts supporting a tinted glass dome, one letting in the spill of sunlight, warm. Access is permitted them from the Kimoyo beads Thor is allowed to keep for now, Shuri programming them to allow entry. Still, it is a struggle to determine _which_ bead Thor must hold up to the entrance panel, while Loki only looks on, amused. 

But Thor’s persistence pays off, for when they are finally granted entry, it is to a well-heated chamber within the atrium, steam rising swift to meet them, the fragrant scent of citrus and sage rejuvenating Thor at once. Water surges into the baths through two immense panther head spouts, each ornament mounted majestic to ivory-bright walls. And the path to the enormous basin is laid careful with black tiles, embellishments of gold leaves etched fine along the sides, while the Golden Tribe’s sun sigil is patterned regal through its core.

Loki’s open-mouthed gape is a testament to the grandeur of this palace’s baths, though he remembers himself when Thor lays a hand to his shoulders, gentle. Thinking to assist Loki in stripping away his armour—at least, what little of it remains, after Shuri’s ministrations. 

“I,” Loki tries, hesitant, as he draws away. “I would undress _myself_ , thank you. And I would have you turn around until I am well within the water.”

Thor blinks, puzzled by Loki’s reluctance to unclothe himself in Thor’s sight. “It is nothing I have not seen _before_ ,” he huffs, before a bar of soap sails toward his head in warning. “All right, all _right_ ,” Thor laughs, catching it easily, his other hand flung up in surrender. “I shall enter first, and you can join me when you please.”

With that, he strips off his own armour, laying cloak and cuirass on a nearby chair, before throwing his trousers haphazard over top, earning him a huff of a laugh from Loki. Slips into the water, sighing, content, as the heat of it bakes away the aches and pains of days past. 

“Loki?” he calls after a moment passes, feeling far too lonely in the water. He is reassured by a small splash from behind him, the subtle ripple of it revealing Loki’s course as he swims his way toward Thor. Reaches up to push wet hair back from his brow as he smiles, fond. “There you are.” 

“Here I am,” Loki replies, quiet, the hot water seeming to have stripped away his caustic shields, leaving a Loki softer, subtler behind. 

And though it troubles Thor that Loki is sunk shoulder-deep in the water, he does not make mention of it; only wades his way to meet Loki with a grin. Admires the way his hair fans out within the water, a spill of ink lovely and dark, the kind most poets would weep to compose with. 

Reaches out on a whim, to curl one such lock of it around a finger and tug, teasing. 

“I know you are no child, or invalid, and that you have full function of your hands,” Thor starts, encouraged by the laugh he draws from Loki, “but would you like help in washing your hair?” _As you loved, when we were children?_ he thinks, the words sheltered secret in his heart. Loki had always returned the favour, though each such session would ultimately devolve into a battle of soapy splashes and giggles, neither of them emerging from the baths as clean as Frigga would hope. 

“So you can slit my throat while I am vulnerable and unguarded?” Loki says, stinging Thor to the quick. 

_If I wished to slit your throat, I could have done it while you lay injured in the Avengers tower_ , Thor thinks, not rising to Loki’s bait. _And if I truly wished to harm you, I could have poisoned your food and drink as you recovered_. 

But he bites his tongue, keeps from giving voice to the words. Draws a breath, deep and even, and closes his eyes, willing himself to have patience. To remember that Loki’s trust cannot be easily regained by a few soft words and gentler touches. “I only wished to offer you such help, that you might reserve more energy for your exercises later,” Thor says at last.

Loki _hmms_ , considering, for they both know Shuri has a schedule of demanding activities waiting for Loki, something she calls _physiotherapy_. And after long moments, he swims before Thor, his head tilted down, neck bared in a motion of cautious trust, permission for Thor’s request implicitly given.

Thor releases the breath he had been holding, relief flooding his body entire, and reaches for a bar of soap—the one Loki lobbed at him earlier—the scent of vanilla and honey pervading the air as he works up a lather. Ensures Loki has closed his eyes before spilling a cupped handful of water over Loki’s hair to wet it, massaging the soapy froth into silken strands, his fingers marking a path from Loki’s brow, over his scalp, to the base of his neck.

A tiny, satisfied sigh issues from Loki, and Thor matches the sound with one of his own, for having his hands in Loki’s hair like this, a task so mundane yet reminiscent of the old days it _hurts_ , is a pleasure Thor thought he might never have again. 

As if to obscure such a moment of vulnerability, however, Loki remarks, “What would your old friends say, if they could see you now? Washing your enemy’s hair, like a docile lamb?”

Perhaps removing Loki from the sceptre’s influence had leeched him of his desire to be king, to rule worlds with the might of the Tesseract behind him, but it had not banished the well of his bitterness, which had festered long before he fell into Thanos’ thrall. 

And though the friends Loki speaks of are gone, the urge rising to scold Loki about not speaking ill of the dead, Thor keeps silent on the matter. Only reflects upon how Fandral and Sif had sniped at Loki's talents in the fairer arts instead of arms. His own and Hogun’s failure to stop it. And there were Volstagg's jibes at Loki's silver tongue, teasing and well-meant—but Loki would not see it that way, of course.

“I know now," Thor says finally, his fingers kneading gentle behind Loki's ears, "that the slights you suffered at their hands are not so imagined as I thought." Loki’s soft intake of breath at that is encouragement enough to continue. “I can only be sorry you endured such troubles, and ensure you do not suffer them again.” Thor’s hands give pause in Loki’s hair then, before he draws a breath of his own. “And you are no enemy,” he adds, refuting Loki’s words. “You are—”

“A liar? Thief? Wretch?” Loki cuts in blithely, starting to squirm free of Thor’s grasp. “Take your pick, I have heard it all before.”

Thor swallows the words _you are my brother_ , for some higher power seems to warn him against them. “You are one who is precious to me,” he says instead, satisfied when the words stun Loki into silence. “So be _still_ and let me do this for you.” It is as much as he dares at present, for an embrace to comfort seems ill-advised now, with how guarded Loki is.

Loki rumbles his discontent, with mutterings of how Thor’s fingers dig too _hard_ , and he is not using enough _soap_ —all of which earn him only Thor’s laughter instead of his wrath—but lapses otherwise into another thoughtful quiet for the remainder of the bath. And though Loki is just as evasive upon his exit as his entrance, preferring to dry and clothe himself in privacy, he declares, at its end, “I suppose that was not _unbearable_ ,” before they return to Shuri and her training.

Subsequent baths pass more amicably, without Loki accusing Thor of scheming to murder him, and accepting his small kindnesses as they are. And it is after their baths that Thor carries Loki back to their makeshift quarters at the lab, where Loki lopes around in a grudging attempt at the _walking_ Shuri demands. At least, until his efforts exhaust him, and he curls onto his stretcher to rest. 

On this night, however, Thor is ready to turn in to bed when a soft, shivering sob from beneath Loki’s blanket catches his attention. Thor had not heard such things the first three nights after their return, dropping off into a dreamless sleep, exhausted, as soon as the lab’s lights dimmed. But _there_ , again—the same tortured sound Thor recalls hearing only when they had been small, when neither of them knew shame enough to keep from crawling into each other’s beds. Comforting each other from nightmares and demons in the dark. 

“Loki?” Thor whispers, clutching the fingers he had wound loose around Loki’s tighter. “Are you all right?”

No answer comes, before Loki shudders again, this time violent enough to fling the blanket from his shoulders. “Please, _no_ ,” Loki whimpers. “Not that— _anything_ but that.”

A nightmare, then, from Loki’s response. Thor can only guess at the nature of it—an unending torment, most likely at the hands of Thanos, from the way he gloated over Loki’s misfortune back on the Statesman—and another wave of anger washes over him, at the thought of what that contemptuous creature must have done to Loki. 

Thor strokes Loki’s wrist with the round of his thumb, gentle. Reaches out to sift fingers through Loki’s hair, careful to keep from overwhelming Loki with his presence, for if Loki thinks himself caged, he might lash out, might rend and slash and tear in a bid to be free. 

But the hiccupped sobs and shivered gasps continue, each wounding Thor’s heart deeper than the last, and when Loki’s fingers creep further out from his blanket, searching, lost, as if Thor’s hand is not comfort enough, Thor decides it is as good an opening as any. Nudges their stretchers together, until he can shift his way onto Loki’s, and folds Loki into his arms, letting his brother nestle warm into his chest. Breathe in the scent they both share from the baths, of sweet sandalwood and cloves. Share in the heat of their bodies pressed together, as he whispers words quiet and calming into Loki’s hair. 

“You are safe,” Thor murmurs, pressing a kiss to Loki’s ear, reassuring. “There is no pain here, no hurt, no harm.” Another kiss, to the furrow in his brow, after Thor has brushed away a lock of hair, damp from Loki’s night terrors, his fear. “You are safe.”

“Thor,” Loki whispers, tremulous. “ _Thor_.” A quick glance at his features shows Loki is still snared in his dream, no closer to wakefulness than before. But the thought that he equates this new comfort with Thor moves Thor’s heart so deeply that he shifts further around Loki, protective. Curls the arm he rubbed circles into Loki’s back with, soothing, around his waist instead, his other cupped warm at the nape of Loki’s neck.

“I am here, brother,” says Thor, echoing words he heard not several days past, ones that had heartened him immensely. “I am here, and I shall never leave again.”

When he has exhausted both words and action, to show Loki he is not alone, that no harm will come to him here, Thor turns to their oldest comfort—that of their mother’s lullaby, humming the melody soft against Loki’s hair. Pausing only now and then to touch a tiny kiss to Loki’s eyelids. His nose. His brow. Finds himself relieved when the anxious furrow in Loki’s brow fades away, his whimpers tapering off until only their shared breaths fill the silence between them. 

And only when Thor has ensured Loki’s sleep is dreamless, if not entirely peaceful, does he join Loki in slumber, finding solace in Loki’s warmth, his presence, as much as he hopes Loki does in his.

~

Perhaps it changes nothing; perhaps it changes everything.

They do not speak of it in the morn, but Thor finds Loki allowing him more liberties after, in the form of tiny affections, letting Thor catch his fingers and keep them in their waking hours. Press a small kiss to his hair, when he thinks Loki is not paying attention. And when Thor folds Loki into his arms at night, for comfort, for reassurance—whether his own or Loki’s, he knows not—Loki says nothing; only sighs, soft and wistful, tucking himself further into Thor’s space.

Loki himself seems to see it as invitation to take his own liberties with Thor—including making him the target of jokes when he and Shuri form a team against Thor.

“Try punching it,” Shuri urges, as Thor admires the array of Panther Habits in her lab, each suit incorporating sleek lines and deadly grace, but none more so than the prototype set bold in the center. She flicks a bead on her bracelet, discreet, as if to record this venture.

And when Thor opens his mouth to question _why_ , Loki says, exasperated, “Just punch it, Thor. She wishes only to check the reaction of the suit she created for her brother against an external kinetic force.” His eyes narrow, knowing Thor’s weak point. “Or have you no strength left, after carrying me to the baths and back?”

Of _course_ Thor ends up on the other side of the lab, breath knocked clear from his lungs as he is flung through the air with a propulsion rivalling Mjölnir’s.

“Loki, you _little_ —” Thor starts, biting off the rest of his invective as he spots Shuri and Loki doubled over, laughing, phrases like _flew farther than T’challa_ and _did you see his face_ audible between each peal of laughter. 

“You must keep this footage,” Loki urges, when they replay Thor’s gracelessness on Shuri’s beads. His mirth is so apparent even tears form at the corners of his eyes. “I wish to use it for future blackmailing purposes.”

“Oh? It will _cost_ you,” says Shuri. And as they fall to bartering over what Loki can offer for such premium film, Thor only rolls his eyes, laughter bubbling out of him, unplanned, too glad to see Loki enjoying himself again.

For he _is_ , truly; color has returned to his cheeks, the worrying pallor of days past blooming into a rosy glow, the dark rings beneath his eyes lightened with sleep. And with several rounds of Shuri’s bone-mending apparatus behind him, Loki is steadier and more confident on his feet now, waving off Thor’s help and poking around Shuri’s lab, curious. 

“A spellcasting inhibitor!” Loki exclaims once, fascinated, examining a device with a glowing orb at its centre, six antennas fanning out from its core. “I am surprised you have magic here on Midgard as well. Or something that can oppose it. I assume it works on the same principles as a frequency jammer? Neutralizing particular waves as you wish?” The tiny tilt of his mouth in a smile suggests he had created a similar device himself back on Asgard.

Thor, arms crossed, snorts a laugh; little wonder neither Father nor Mother could ever access Loki’s private chambers, no matter which spell they attempted. Then it occurs to him that Thor had only ever bullied his way so easily into Loki’s rooms because Loki had _allowed_ him to—a humbling thought, indeed.

Shuri sets down the implements in her hands, surprised. “It _does_ ,” she replies, impressed she does not have to explain the mechanics of how such instruments work, Loki guessing their purpose and process without issue. “And though _technically_ we used to use such things to jam satellite images to prevent Wakanda’s discovery, rather than inhibit magic, I discovered it could be used to block the tracking device T’challa thought he planted on me, when I was small. _And_ —” Shuri raises a brow, eyes shining with mischief, “—my brother’s Wi-Fi.”

Thor winces in commiseration with the absent T’challa, for having a sibling like Shuri must be a handful. Then he draws a breath, wistful, at how much like Shuri _Loki_ could have been, had his talents been fostered and revered on Asgard, his mind bent toward creation instead. Still, it is a delight to see Loki’s enthusiasm return now, as he turns the instrument over in his hands, marvelling at its moving parts, the sight bringing a smile to Thor’s lips.

“This _is_ magic,” Loki insists, as he flits toward yet another device, this one a glowing gem suspended between two metallic egg halves. Strokes fingers careful over the shell. “It _is_.”

Shuri only laughs. “There are many things here people might call magic, but are simply the rigorous application of science and technology. Coupled with _genius_ ,” she sings, pointing to herself with a grin.

Loki answers her grin with one of his own. “Genius, yes. Found in _such_ short supply on Asgard.” Thor casts his eyes skyward at the jibe, but lets Loki have his fun, for simply seeing him up and about again, awestruck by new tools is a pleasure itself. And when Shuri only tilts her head, waiting for elaboration, Loki explains, paying no mind to Thor’s presence, “Asgard is known for its warrior race, where its strongest fighters are honoured and admired. And those who are not among them…are not.”

Shuri nods, understanding dawning quick in her eyes, from what Thor had shared of their past, and Loki’s oblique phrasing. “We have warriors here too,” she says, “my brother among them. But many of them would not be half as strong without support from those of us who use our brains, rather than our brawn.” She beams then. “Perhaps one day we could work together. And you and Thor could…”

Loki’s sigh at _one day_ carries such longing that it twinges Thor’s heart, though Thor can only be thankful for Shuri’s honest invitation, a clear message that she empathizes with Loki’s situation. That his talents and intellect are welcomed.

“Perhaps,” is all Loki says, his glance toward Thor fleeting, quick, as if he himself does not quite believe.

On the occasions Shuri leaves to join Tony and Bruce in studying the stones, and Loki decides he has had enough of the lab’s creations and poking fun at Thor, they walk within the palace grounds, Thor carrying him back when he grows winded.

By the fifth day of this hard-won bliss, however, Tony arrives on their floor of the lab, to pay them a visit. And as is Tony’s wont, he skips past the social niceties to announce the reason for his visit, immediate.

“So, we’re just about done studying the stones upstairs,” says Tony. “And—there’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to say it—when do you think Loki can join us at a council meeting? To figure out what we’re going to do against Thanos?”

Thor knows that bringing Loki before the council, for his insight and cunning both, is the express purpose for which he was allowed to bring Loki back. But now that it has come to this, Thor finds himself miserly with his brother’s company, desiring to keep Loki all to himself.

“Loki needs more rest and sustenance first,” Thor tries. Berates himself inwardly at such poor prevarication. “Perhaps another day of respite would—”

“Thor. _Buddy_.” Tony shakes his head. “I wish I could give you more time. I _do_. But we’re on a schedule here. Those elders up there? They’re getting kind of antsy and want to hear from Loki. And you know we all took a huge leap of faith, letting you bring him back with the stones.” 

“I know this well,” Thor nods, solemn. “But if you could spare us just another day, _two_ —”

Tony crosses his arms and sighs. “ _One_ day,” he says. “The rest of the council is on my ass about this, but I’ll stall them for _one_ more day.” At Thor’s grateful _thank you_ , however, Tony’s brows knit, as if he does not share in Thor’s happiness or relief. “About Loki, by the way…” he starts, hesitant.

Thor risks a glance at Loki, to ensure he is not within earshot. “Yes? What is it?”

The unease writ in Tony’s face is all too clear. “Thor, there’s something about him you should know.”


	4. Propagate

~

“What—” Thor herds Tony into a corner of the lab, abrupt. Away from where Loki examines a metallic sphere, curious, its perforated outer shell clearly cast from vibranium, while a light source shines out from within. “What of Loki? What is it I must know?” He glances at Loki, soft and fond and unguarded, his reassuring smile drawing an answering one from Loki, before he turns back to Tony, worried.

“I mean, you _do_ know you can’t—” Tony’s gaze darts between them, some new understanding flitting through his eyes before he swallows, tense. “You know what, never mind.” He claps Thor on the back, the motion awkward and ungainly. “I’ll, uh, let the council know it’ll be just a little while longer. But only _just_ ,” he says, calling out the warning over his shoulder, as he exits the lab. 

True to his word, Tony defers the council’s reconvening for another day. But even then, both Thor and Loki know they cannot remain hidden in Shuri’s research chambers forever. 

“I will be _fine_ ,” Loki huffs, as they finally make their way to the throne room. “Now stop _fussing_.” 

Thor had ensured Loki was properly rested, fed, and fully healed in the time Tony allowed them—all the while enlightening him on the likely attitude of each Avenger toward him, from those who had dealings with Loki in the past, and those who had not. The general consensus was that Loki would have allies in Tony, Bruce, and Shuri, those who had worked the hardest in making this possible; the others were apt to range from casual indifference to outright antagonism, though Thor hopes more for the former than the latter.

As he eases open the carven double doors, intricate, ornate, muttering that _preparing_ is not akin to _fussing_ , Thor guides Loki in, his hand steady on Loki’s shoulder. And though Loki had waved away Thor’s concern, the sheer number of gazes fixed now upon them is enough to make him take a step back, surprised, a motion that has Thor stroking subtle warmth into Loki’s shoulder to calm him.

“My friends,” says Thor, nodding to those who have gathered in the chamber, “this is the one whom you have all waited to meet—my brother, Loki.” 

Faced with so many of his previous foes—the battle of New York was only short days ago for Loki, Thor now remembers—Loki throws up his shields, immediate. Draws his lips into a line, his eyes narrowed, his expression closed off. Thor is sorry to see his mood darken thus, when only moments ago he had experienced the brightness of Loki’s joy again. The sweetness of his laugh. 

Loki’s laugh now is mirthless and cold as he scans the room, reading it, assessing it, in the same way he prepares for a battle. Surveying the seating arrangements, and perceiving the divisive lines between them.

“I suppose you really did all come together,” he says at last. “Forming your own little playgroup—what was that delightful name you called yourself?—ah, the _Avengers_.” Loki had grudgingly revealed to Thor that despite the sceptre’s influence on him, it was Loki’s intention to turn the situation to his advantage, galvanizing Thor and his new friends into forming a united front against the conflict Thanos was sure to bring. For his attack on Midgard, whether led by Loki or no, was only the beginning; a test to see if they had the strength to repel him. 

“But I see everything I did was for naught,” Loki continues casually, his gaze resting on the noticeable rifts in seating, “since you were so easily dismantled. Not by an argument amongst yourselves—but by an institution weaker than yourselves. Your _government_.”

“Dude is _sharp_ ,” whispers Rhodey. He ignores Tony’s eyeroll at his approving assessment of Loki’s observation skills, unaware of its pairing with his ability to access news archives. From the tablet Shuri lent him, Loki had clearly informed himself of recent events in the moments Thor had been away, including that which Thor had only just discovered himself—the Sokovia Accords, which had torn the Avengers asunder.

It seems Loki is not yet finished, for he glances then at the largest rift, one remaining between Steve and Tony, despite their efforts to mend it in days past. “After that, it was only a matter of letting your own anger, hate, and petty grievances tear what remained of you apart. What else could explain the way you all sit at odds with each other, instead of being united as one?”

Thor catches the gathered council’s incredulous expressions, and thinks to inform Loki, perhaps too late, that this is no kangaroo court and Loki is not here to be judged for a crime—so there is no _need_ to cut their allies down to size—when Tony steps in.

“Phil’s alive, by the way.” Tony’s non-sequitur cuts through the shame and silence that settled heavy among the Avengers at the table. “No thanks to you.”

“ _Is_ he now?” Loki says, nonchalant. But Thor spies now the subtle slump of his shoulders, in relief; tiny tells he never knew to pay attention to, or look out for. “I suppose you mortals’ acumen in medicine is to be commended after all.” Despite Loki’s lazy declaration, that no one needs explain who Phil is suggests his death had weighed heavy on Loki’s mind, and Thor is glad for Tony’s revelation, oddly-timed and candid though it was. 

“ _Lo_ -kii,” Thor chides gently, as he guides Loki to their seats. Strokes his knee from beneath the table, an effort to hush him before he further antagonizes the council. 

Loki flicks him a puzzled glance at the motion, for these new affections were ones Thor had hoped to share with Loki before Thanos had— _before_. But he only shifts into it, subtle, allowing it all the same.

“If you are all _quite_ done,” says Shuri, sudden, appearing to address everyone at the table, and not just Loki, “we have a Titan to vanquish here. And for _that_ , we need to have a plan. Not a pissing contest as you children are engaged in now.” A hush falls then, all of them mortified that Wakanda’s young queen—temporary or not—is calling _them_ children. 

That, or they are shocked that the acting queen has no compunctions saying the phrase _pissing contest_ in polite company.

“Oh, yes,” Loki continues, undeterred, “a _plan_. Tell me, where is the Loki of this time? Knowing myself, I am sure two of us put together could devise a plan quicker and more effectively than all of you combined.”

Utter silence descends over the council. 

No one speaks in the eerie stillness that follows, perhaps out of deference to Thor, or because the truth is too difficult to bear. But when Loki turns toward him in bafflement, he can keep quiet no longer. “The Loki of this time is—” Thor tries, “the Loki I knew, and loved, is—”

The word _dead_ is lead in his throat, and he swallows, tight, finding he cannot continue, for saying the words would make it final, would set it in stone, and Thor cannot bear the thought of it. 

Loki must hear the words he means to say— _cannot_ —for his haughty expression softens, minute, and he presses a hand to Thor’s knee, a quick brush of reassurance. “Allow us to excuse ourselves for a moment,” he says after a heartbeat’s pause, “for I must have words with my brother. If he is even my brother at _all_ ,” Loki adds, pointed.

With that, he ushers Thor out into the hall, his hand oddly gentle at the small of Thor’s back. 

When they have found a suitable alcove, away from the eyes and ears of the council, Loki finally speaks. “Tell me the truth,” he demands. “All of it.”

Thor had informed Loki of this meeting with the current Avengers and this country’s elders, but had remained intentionally vague about the specifics. Thought to let Loki focus on resting and healing, for the last time Thor made mention of Thanos and his victory, Loki’s eyes had been wide with fear, a tremor shivering through his body entire. 

“Loki—” Thor starts, thinking to gentle his retelling of events, his explanation of Loki’s purpose here, before Loki cuts through it, instant, a knife searing hot through frozen butter.

“You _said_ ,” presses Loki, “when you first appeared before me, that you needed me. I would know now what I am needed _for_.” At Thor’s silence, Loki’s voice grows cold. “I am a sacrificial pawn, then. Another tool for your schemes, as I once was for Odin.”

“ _No_ —nothing like that, Loki,” Thor says, immediate. And because he knows it unfair to keep the truth from Loki any longer, Thor first affirms he is indeed the brother of the Loki before him, though this is a time years later in Loki’s future. “You could say,” Thor explains further, “that for you, this is neither an alternate reality nor another universe entirely, but simply a displacement in time.”

“I see. I thought as much.” Loki’s gaze flicks toward Thor’s shorn hair in understanding. His mismatched eye. The absence of Mjölnir at his hip. Then he glances in the direction of Shuri’s research lab with a sigh. “There is nothing _simple_ about this displacement, but go on.”

Thor touches briefly on Asgard’s ultimate fate, due to the appearance of their sister, Hela. The progress they made between them, until Thanos shattered their brief and fleeting dream—that of piloting their people to a new land, a new _life_. How he had taken the lives of half those left after Hela’s onslaught, then went on to unite the stones, and extinguished half of _every_ world’s lives as well.

“But the life he took _first_ ,” Thor says, head bowed at the end of his retelling, ashamed, “was of the one dearest to me.” He had taken a small liberty, of course, reordering events in his retelling. For though Heimdall and numerous Asgardians were the ones whom Thanos slew first, he would have Loki’s passing sound more heroic in nature. That it came defending what was left of Asgard and its people, to the last.

And if, in the deepest hollows of his heart, Thor means it was Loki’s life extinguished that first broke him, no one would have to know.

Loki, who had listened with a growing fury at each of Asgard’s defeats, seems to soar to the pinnacle of such emotion now, finger jabbed hard into Thor’s chest. “Did you not fight?” he demands, incredulous. “Did you not _try_ to—” The anguish aimed at Thor makes it clear what Loki thought he should have fought _for_.

“Loki,” Thor tries, recalling how useless his lightning strikes had been against Thanos, how they had glanced off his armour as arrows before an invincible shield. When darkness and despair had crept into his heart, at his inability to protect his people, his _Loki_. “My powers, my strength, none of it was eno—”

“You let me _die_.” Loki’s eyes shine with unshed tears, his words spearing a wound so vicious, so deep in Thor’s heart that he cannot help the spill of tears over his own cheeks, hot and bitter and wet. “I see now why you had to return to the past to bring _me_ here. Because you carelessly—”

“Because I cannot lose you _again_.” Thor swallows against the knot of emotion snarled in his throat. “I travelled time to prevent exactly that.” When the words give Loki pause, Thor presses his advantage in the silence. “It was _I_ who convinced Tony, Shuri, and the council entire to let me use his untested technology, to travel back in time and find _you_. When they could have sent anyone else, any _where_ else.”

Thor had sold the benefit of bringing the stones back to the council, but he and his closest friends knew it had been _Loki_ he wished to bring back. A selfish desire with a failsafe, wherein if they could not reverse what happened, he would have Loki back, in some way, some form. 

“I find it hard to believe they so easily agreed to your request,” Loki says sourly, though Thor’s confession douses the flames of his fury considerably.

“I told them you would act as our consultant,” says Thor, proud of that tiny kernel of cleverness. Perhaps the others had seen through that too, but his statement was not without a grain of truth. 

There is no lie in his words now, and by the way Loki reaches out, careful, to wick away Thor’s tears, he can tell his sincerity has touched Loki’s heart. 

“This is an arduous task you have set me,” Loki says finally, after a deep deliberation. He forestalls Thor’s reassurance that if so, Loki need not trouble himself, with a flap of his hand. “I said ‘arduous’—I did not say _impossible_.” He sighs then, long-suffering, a sound so familiar it brings a wobbly smile to Thor’s lips. “I suppose it is time now for me to ‘earn my keep’.” Curls his hand comforting at Thor’s elbow, a silent entreaty of _come along, then_ , as they return to the council together.

“—still has the gauntlet,” says Natasha, the Avengers still clearly in the midst of discussing their strategy against Thanos. “Or _had_ , at least. Thor, you were the last to see him before he vanished. What was the state of it, from what you remember?”

Thor spares a moment to reflect on what he had seen. “The gauntlet appeared as a burnt husk of its former structure. I know not if the remaining stones were intact, though the Space stone was certainly how he escaped. _But_ ,” Thor beams, in the face of this discouraging news, “it matters not if Thanos still has the gauntlet in his possession, or how many stones he has left.”

“No? Why not?” Tony crosses his arms over his chest. 

“ _We_ have a Loki,” Thor declares, with the same confidence that Loki had once said _We have a Hulk_. 

His statement is met with raised brows and silent stares, Loki included in their number, at this unshakeable faith Thor shows in him. 

Tony speaks first—little surprise, for those words were initially his, as Loki revealed once during their baths. “O… _kay_ , just so you know, Loki’s not exactly the Hulk. And we all know how Hulk fared against Thanos—no offense, Bruce,” he adds, just as Bruce raises his hands to show no offence is taken. “I mean, I know you missed your brother, and he can help us use the stones, which is _why_ I didn’t say anything when you wanted to Wrinkle in Time your way to him and bring him back. But to say he’s our ‘make or break’? That’s a little far-fetched.”

Thor narrows his eyes; clearly most of the council had not thought much of his claim that Loki was the key to their victory. Still, the greatest challenge is behind him—that of convincing the others to let _him_ be the one to return to the past—and he needs only persuade them now of the benefit Loki can bring them, not just that of the stones or Loki’s knowledge of them.

“Loki knows how Thanos operates,” Thor argues. “His methods. His ways. He spent time with the Titan, albeit against his will, in the void beyond the Bifrost. And without Strange and the Time stone in his keeping, Loki is our greatest chance to reverse what Thanos has done. Nay, _greater_.”

He squeezes Loki’s hand from beneath the table, both to prove his utter belief in Loki’s abilities, and to reassure Loki that he is no tool, to be used and discarded as in Odin’s political intrigues. Finds himself relieved when Loki squeezes back, cautious.

“If I recall correctly, you said Loki is a brilliant strategist,” Shuri adds, innocent, clearly backing Thor’s claim while encouraging him to elaborate. 

“He _is_ ,” says Thor, seizing the opportunity offered. “Our campaigns to defend Asgard from invading forces were largely coordinated by Loki. As were our battles in many other realms besides.”

In the ripple of assent through the council that follows, that perhaps Loki’s presence here has more value than simply calming Thor’s troubled heart, Loki murmurs, “I did not think you remembered such things.” 

Thor’s smile is fond, his voice soft as the fingers he strokes along Loki’s knee. “Of _course_ I remember. There were even occasions in which I envied your skill, sorry that my strength alone could not win our way out of trouble.”

“You envied _me_?” Loki breathes, as if the concept is utterly foreign to him. For him, it was not long ago Thor had boasted of his feat of fighting their way out of Nornheim, while in the same breath dismissing Loki’s role in their escape as a mere _trick_.

“I did,” Thor admits. “Knowing you bested me in strategy and resourcefulness was difficult for me to accept in those days. But now it is not,” he adds, reassuring. “I know that you are you, and I am me, but together, perhaps we could be…” His brow furrows at the effort, before Loki twitches a smile, taking pity on him. 

“Complementary?” Loki proposes, offering his hand, tentative, perhaps in bid to show such a thing. Covering Thor’s fingers with his.

“Yes,” Thor grins back, broad, turning his palm up to close warm around Loki’s. “That.”

With such sentiments revealed, they return to the conversation at large, though without a clear leader and aim, it seems to have devolved into an argument about how best to use the stones in their possession. 

“Loki,” Thor whispers, hoping he will demonstrate his prowess at strategy as Thor and Shuri have claimed. But Loki only shakes his head and smiles, serene, seeming content to watch the others squabble for now. Or, if he knows Loki, waiting for the reveal of pertinent information and viable suggestions.

“I say we use the Tessaract to find Thanos, wherever he is, and take the Time stone from him,” says Steve. “It’s the only way to reverse what he did. And once we’ve got that, we could just go after him during the Battle of New York. Then none of this would’ve been able to happen.”

“Uh, _no_ ,” Tony says, instant. “Maybe you weren’t right at the wormhole the Tesseract created that time, like I was, but there were still like a billion Chitauri soldiers raining down from there, with more just waiting outside to join the party. That, plus the fact that none of us are suited up for space? We’d be dead before we even reached him.”

Thor recalls there had also been an incoming nuclear missile at the time, one Tony disposed of by sending through the wormhole—which meant they could not keep _that_ open indefinitely either, in a bid to reach Thanos. “What do you propose we do instead?” 

“ _I_ say we use the Tessaract to find Thanos, and take the _whole_ gauntlet from him,” says Tony, “because then he can’t follow us and reclaim the stones. Then with the Time stone, we all hop back to the moment before his snap, take him out, stop the snap, easy peasy.” 

Bruce clears his throat, in plain disagreement at both Steve and Tony’s suggestions.

“Could I...?” he starts, slipping glasses out of his pocket—the pair likely remade in Wakanda, with little effort—nodding as Tony flourishes a hand, as if to say, _by all means_. “First of all, those are some good suggestions. Except,” Bruce adds, addressing Tony first, “that yours requires two confrontations with Thanos. We might get lucky the first time, especially if some of the stones are out of commission. _Maybe_. But a second time? We might not; by then we’re talking about a Thanos that’s got all the stones, and all in perfect condition.”

“There is also the fact that most of you were on this exact battlefield at that moment,” Shuri chimes in. “Returning as a group to fight Thanos before his final action would put you in a position to encounter your past selves—and depending on your actions there, create a temporal paradox. Not to mention the utter confusion it would cause.”

“Exactly,” Bruce nods, before turning to address Steve. “And even if we can get the Time stone, it’s not a good idea to go as far back in the timeline as New York. The farther back we go, the more anomalies we cause, resulting in too many ripple effects we can’t account for, or even foresee.” He shakes his head. “Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to reverse the minutiae of Thanos' wrongdoings. But if we do that, it could be a pretty slippery slope. With far too many unintended consequences.”

“Then…you are saying that at most, we can only use the Time stone to undo events surrounding Thanos’ gathering of the stones,” Thor says, to confirm his understanding. “And the destruction he caused to obtain them, since those involved loss of life on the largest scales, starting with the sacking of Xandar.” A disappointing discovery, for Thor had hoped to do _more_ , but rational all the same—a conclusion Loki himself affirms with a subtle nod.

This sparks another outcry about _which_ events to reverse and whom to bring back, before the conversation devolves into yet another argument about what item to seize from Thanos first. 

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor whispers again, for the conversation has circled around, and they have accomplished nothing with their bickering but hypotheticals and disastrous outcomes. He nudges Loki’s knee, subtle, in the same way they spoke as children, a silent appeal of _do something, quickly_.

Loki rises to his feet, having come to some silent decision, and though he does not have the weight of Gungnir in his hand, his very motion commands the attention of the entire chamber at once.

“We shall obtain the Time stone first,” Loki declares. He pauses long enough to determine he has the support of that strategy’s proponents before adding, “But to do that, we must take his gauntlet entire. If we do not, we risk having Thanos undo all we have worked for, as he can still bend the universe to his will with the remaining stones, whether by catching us unaware with the Space stone, rending us limb from limb with the Reality stone, destroying planets with the Power stone in revenge, or creating mass enslavement with the Mind stone.

“And once we have them,” Loki says finally, speaking of the Time stone and the Gauntlet, “we shall _destroy_ Thanos where he stands. We will reverse the devastation he has caused. But only at key points surrounding his acquisition of each stone.”

With one swift stroke, Loki has united the divided parties in the room, and woven all strands of the hypothetical into a firm, clear goal. 

“That is a tall order,” Shuri points out, though she beams, wide, for Thor knows from their first council meeting that Loki’s ambitions align with hers, and the wheels are now set in motion to achieve them.

“The _tallest_ ,” Loki agrees easily. “But if I recall, it is a common saying here on Midgard, to ‘go big, or go home’.” A smile twitches at his own lips, his sass earning him Tony’s approving nod, before Loki catches the gaze of each active Avenger and fighter in the room. “As for the _how_ of it: return here on the morrow with a list each of your strengths and weaknesses. Bring any weapons and accessories you have, and be ready to speak on your encounters with Thanos. I will form a team from those I have chosen—a task force, if you will—and we will bring the fight to _him_.”

“Wait, you mean you’re holding _job interviews_?” says Steve, surprised.

Loki blinks, as if Steve questions the obvious. “I recognize it may have been an age since any of you have had one, but yes. We are speaking of fighting _Thanos_. I cannot just take _anyone_.” 

With that, he swans off toward the throne room’s doors, pausing only once to glance back at Thor in a clear gesture of _are you with me, or no?_

Thor lingers briefly enough to apologize to Shuri for Loki overriding her authority—heartened when Shuri only laughs and tells him no apology is needed—then follows Loki out the doors, for with Loki’s ultimatum laid down, the meeting is now clearly adjourned.

~

It takes little time for Thor to chase Loki down, for he finds Loki secreted around a nearby corner, stifling a laugh at the sight of the Avengers and their new friends filing out quick from the throne room, scrambling to find paper for their lists.

“ _Lo_ -ki,” Thor chuckles, “have you no entertainment besides that of provoking our comrades, then mocking them from the shadows?”

Loki only huffs at being discovered, arms folded across his chest. “As usual, you spoil my amusements and offer no alternative.” 

But Thor is ready for such reply, having had time and distance from which to think on his approach to Loki. “Come,” he says simply, holding out a hand in entreaty. “Walk with me.” And when Loki hesitates, Thor adds, patient as he has learned to be, “This is no trick, Loki—there is no one waiting in the wings either to bind you with shackles or seize your freedom from you.”

Loki pays no mind to Thor’s outstretched hand. But the way he brushes against Thor and sniffs, “I expect a guided tour of the most scenic sights in this land, then” is encouragement enough, and a blossom of warmth unfurls in Thor’s heart at the thought of sharing such a pleasure with Loki again. 

Thor decides to forego the eerie beauty of the vibranium mines, which Bruce had sung praises of, and the hangar from which Royal Talon Fighters and Dragon Flyers are deployed, impressive as they are. Guides Loki to the doors beyond the palace instead, to take in the sights of the city and the lands beyond it, something they have not yet had opportunity to do.

A sweeping vista of Birnin Zana, the Golden City, greets them as they step out into the light, of skyscrapers each taller than the next, and lofty spires, each part of this land connected by sleek roads and soaring bridges. Vibranium beams and columns bear the load of the city’s progress, but is found woven deep within their art, transports and rail networks as well, all of it catching the sun’s light, making the city truly worthy of its name. And though a metropolis of glass and metal, it has not forgotten its roots, evidenced by thatched roofs atop skyscrapers, and weathered canvas awnings in place of metal grilles on storefronts, its outer reaches remaining untouched with lush forests and mountains as far as the eye can see.

But impressive as the view is, outside of the Citadel proper, Thor can spot other consequences Thanos' actions have wrought; though Shuri must have sent teams led by M’Baku and the heads of other tribes, to clear out major thoroughfares, there remain malfunctioned train cars from their maglev system, spiralled off their rails, with no one to supervise their routes. A mass of stores in Wakanda’s commercial corridors abandoned, wares overturned on tables and entryways, as if their owners had simply vanished mid-operation. Boards pinned full of photos in the streets, with flower wreaths and candles laid at their bases—the people’s memorials, such that they can assemble.

The hustle and bustle of a once prosperous city has now fallen into a hushed and unnatural silence. 

“This way, Loki,” Thor urges, guiding him with a hand to the small of his back, when the silence grows too unsettling for Thor. Reminders of what they must reverse all too real. And though Loki blinks at such contact, he says nothing of the matter. Only lets Thor herd him toward the outer reaches of the city, where they can avoid the strange quiet and find a place to be alone together both. 

“How can you tell which way to proceed?” asks Loki, as Thor urges him through meadows of tall grass, edging their way past a dark but flourishing forest. In the same manner in which he might say, _how can I tell you will not get us hopelessly lost?_

“Have a _little_ faith in my navigational skills,” Thor laughs. And before Loki can remind him that wayfinding had largely been Loki’s responsibility in the days before, Thor arcs his wrist, graceful. Waits for the pertinent Kimoyo bead to roll into his palm, and display via its fine sand particles, a map of their surroundings. “You see?” says Thor, pointing out the river they are following on the map. The immense waterfalls he intends to bring Loki to. “With this map, we can find our way, no matter what the circumstance.” 

Loki only snorts, but relaxes into Thor’s touch, assured now of their route back to the Citadel. 

They wend their way through grassy pastures, marvelling at the simple mud huts and placid livestock, all things Thor knows to be the front Wakanda once presented to the world. And though Thor ventures toward a grazing rhino, curious, Loki tugs him away, with the warning that they are too reminiscent of the snow beasts of Jotunheim. Leads them along the river, their fingers brushing tips of tall grass as they stroll, the wind sifting soft through their hair, the only sound between them the burbling of water over leaf and stone. 

Through it all, Thor bumps gentle against Loki, sporadic, to make certain he is still here. Steals tiny touches, through a brush of their fingers here, an amiable knock of their shoulders or hips together there—until Thor decides to dare more, by taking Loki’s hand in his. Makes to lace their fingers together, an affection more intimate than the ones they shared until now, startled when Loki pulls away, instant, his expression unreadable. 

How had they come to this? For such touches to be questioned, more intimate affections suspected?

The last they traversed a meadow like this had been when they were young, Thor recalls, their studies finished, their days free from care. Loki had had summer in his laugh and the sun in his hair, and when Thor blew him a kiss, teasing, in the manner of maidens in the lower city, Loki had smiled as he caught it, holding it to his heart, like it was precious and rare. The way Thor should have caught the love Loki gave him, and held onto it, instead of squandering it, ungrateful. Taking it always for granted, and setting it aside like an old letter, an old toy, believing it would be there to take up again when he wanted.

And when Thor had finally seen the way forward—it had taken losing Loki _twice_ to see, to appreciate—Loki was taken from him truly, the bright spark of his life snuffed out, flame extinguished all too soon. 

The memory stirs a bittersweet ache in his chest, and a trace of Thor’s sorrow must show in his expression, for Loki’s eyes drift shut, his expression pinched as he draws a breath, long and slow. Lets their fingers brush back together, careful, cautious, in uneasy compromise, before Thor grins, heartened, and catches his hand entire. Presses their palms together, warm. Keeps his hold on Loki this way, until Loki gives permission moments later through a resigned sigh, to thread their fingers together, their connection strengthened, safe, secure. 

It is a second chance offered, Thor recognizes, and this time he catches Loki, holds fast to him, not wasting this rare opportunity given. Revels in this closeness, a return to how things used to be, before their poisonous battle for the throne. The misguided jealousy and viciousness and hurt. 

Walking with Loki through Wakanda’s lush landscapes and sweeping views fills Thor with a quiet happiness, even if they spend much of it in a companionable silence. 

They have passed the majestic Warrior Falls, stopping only long enough to admire the roar of water over Wakanda’s colossal cliffs, when Loki finally speaks again. “There are moments I feel as though I have returned to Asgard,” he says softly. “The advancements they have made here in their technology, and in the fields of healing and medicine seem equivalent, if not greater.” Then he sighs, a sound full of longing and wistfulness. “Mother would like it here.” 

“She would have,” Thor muses, before catching himself, reminded that he should not disclose too much. Tony had not kept Thor from painting in the broad strokes of a blank canvas to explain their situation to Loki, but finer details were forbidden. 

Loki, ever perceptive, stops in his tracks. “Mother _is_ all right, is she not?” His eyes widen, fearful. “Or was she taken in the calamity Hela brought upon Asgard?”

Perhaps it was a kindness Frigga had fallen before seeing Asgard’s destruction, though Thor keeps her fate secret in his heart. “Loki,” he says, pained, “there are things you should not yet know, for fear that—”

“That I will _what_ ,” Loki snaps, waspish. “Change the course of the future? What can I accomplish, on my own? I am Loki, and I am alone in all that I do. Had it not been for your timely intrusion, I would most assuredly be rotting away in a cell on Asgard by now— _alone_.”

“Loki, I did not mean it that way,” Thor says gently. He would give anything for Loki to prevent Frigga’s death. Perhaps siphon away his bile against Odin, so he would not drain the last of Odin’s life in a petty vengeance, thereby keeping Hela at bay. And Asgard—beautiful, shining Asgard, the jewel of the Nine, the Realm Eternal, would stand proud once more. But there could be repercussions, a cascade of them neither Thor nor Loki can foretell.

“I know,” Loki says unhappily, though he does not inquire further. “I know.”

Their trek continues up into the mountain overlooking the falls, past scraggly brush and crimson clusters of wildflowers. Lilac-bright sprays among thorned leaves, and sapphire blossoms nodding gentle from delicate stems, full and round and soft in the wind. Among such natural wonders, it is short moments before Thor spies something to turn Loki’s mind from his melancholy. 

“Loki, look!” Thor points at a cluster of hardy mountain lilies, their dove-white petals dyed bronze in the waning light. “These were your favourite flowers back on Asgard, were they not? Or a flower just like them?”

“I am surprised you caught that, half-blind as you are now,” Loki says, vitriol slipping ready into his voice. “Or does your borrowed eye function as more than a cosmetic?” His mouth falls open at such words, instant, and he drops his gaze, his hand tightening around Thor’s, as if fearing for their new bond. “Thor, I did not mean—”

To Loki’s surprise, Thor only laughs, a deep and genuine rumble, as he reaches out with his free hand to cup Loki’s face, gentle. “I have missed this,” he says, pressing his forehead hot against Loki’s. “I have missed _you_.”

And because he cannot help himself, this spark of fond familiarity filling his heart fit to burst, Thor nuzzles Loki’s nose, warm. An _Eskimo kiss_ , Tony had informed him once, when Thor saw it on television and demanded to know what such affections were called—a motion Thor deems will do in lieu of proper kisses for now. 

“You miss _your_ Loki,” hisses Loki, wrenching his hand from Thor’s. Drawing away, quick, Thor swallowing a whimper at the sharp loss of Loki’s heat, his warmth.

Perhaps he allowed smaller gestures—the slow threading of their fingers together while walking, an embrace meant to comfort during the night—but of such deeper intimacies, Loki would of course be suspicious enough to doubt them.

“You _become_ my Loki,” Thor says, in the face of such scathing words. In the way that he means this Loki grows _into_ the Loki he knew—though he dares not say _you were always my Loki_. It would be too soft, too sentimental, and all too easily misunderstood.

“You mean for me to replace him, then,” Loki says, bitter, twisting Thor’s words regardless, as he thought Loki might. At Thor’s hesitation, Loki swallows, the sound of it audible in the silence between them. “I see,” he says softly, the well of hurt and sorrow in his voice so deep Thor’s heart clenches in his chest. “These affections, these small kindnesses—none of it is for _me_.”

“I _did_ think that at first,” Thor admits, ashamed, as to deny it would be an outright lie. For in the darkest hours of the night, he had thought that if all their plans came to naught, having _a_ Loki would be better than no Loki at all. “But if you allow it,” he adds, earnest, “if I am given opportunity to do so, I…I would like to come to love you, just the same.” He wicks away the tear that has escaped treacherous down Loki’s cheek. “Perhaps some of the others see you only as the means to an end. But I do not.”

“What do you see?” Loki asks, voice just above a whisper.

“I…I see _you_.” The words are clumsy in Thor’s mouth, but honest and true.

It draws a huff of a laugh from Loki, one as genuine as Thor’s words. “Yes, yes, do not injure yourself—words were never your strong suit,” he says airily. Though by the way he lets Thor wind his fingers through Loki’s again, it seems he knows Thor’s meaning all the same. 

They find a boulder within the mountain’s craggy slopes, one wide enough to seat them both, its rough surfaces worn away by time. Settle in to watch the sun set, the golden hues over Warrior Falls giving way to a crimson fire, the water reflecting it in a cascade of bronze ripples, the land bathed in its scarlet glow. 

And as the sun’s light spills upon them, Thor hearkens back to words Loki had said at the last: _the sun will shine on us again, brother_. Could weep at this small way, this small measure through which his words have come to pass. _The sun_ will _shine on us again_ , Thor resolves, silent, vowing that this moment will not be the only meaning Loki’s words hold. _It will_. Shivers at the weight of such a vow, for it requires the near-impossible to fulfill—a victory against Thanos.

As if Loki has seen into Thor’s thoughts, his reflection of what they must do, he broaches the topic, hesitant. “I _do_ know Thanos’ methods, as you said,” Loki says, quiet. “His ways.”

“That would be a boon in the coming battle,” says Thor, “though I wish you had never fallen into his grasp. Never had need to endure such suffering.” For suffering it had surely been, the desperate, gangling creature Thor found in Midgard a far cry from the wily, rosy-cheeked brother he knew. It was only the food, rest, and comfort of the past days that had brought color back into Loki’s cheeks, filled the hollows beneath his eyes.

Loki only scoffs at Thor’s attempted empathy. “You speak as though you know what transpired after I fell from the Bifrost.”

Thor recalls then that for this Loki, such agonies and torments are all in recent memory, and not the distant recollections told to amuse, as Loki had done on Sakaar. “I do not,” he admits humbly, “for I never had opportunity to hear it. But if you would do me the kindness of sharing with me what occurred after your fall,” Thor adds, threading his fingers through Loki’s again, careful, “you would find me a ready and willing listener.”

Loki’s eyes widen, at the thought that he would be doing _Thor_ the favour by sharing his story, though he recovers quick from his shock. “Oh? You think yourself less stubborn and headstrong than before, I suppose?” Loki says, wary. But when Thor only waits, silent, patient, Loki glances at their joined hands, as if the connection lends him courage to finally speak.

Keeps his gaze fixed on them, not daring to meet Thor’s eyes as he recounts the events that brought him here, as though what happened to him—these deeds and events far beyond his control—are a secret, shameful thing. But the only shame Thor can feel is that of his own; for he had prevented Loki from destroying the Jotunns in his anguished attempt to _belong_ , but in the battle following, one that left Loki dangling a spear’s length from death, Thor had not caught him, had not _wrenched_ his brother back along Gungnir’s haft to save him from certain doom.

Had consigned him to a worse fate—that of falling into the clutches of a mad tyrant, and under threat of his own demise, traveling from planet to planet, wresting control from innocents and executing half their inhabitants each. Enduring endless tortures at Thanos’ hands, and that of his esteemed lieutenants, when he refused such genocidal assignments

“Then word reached him of the Tesseract’s discovery,” Loki says finally. “The rest you know.” 

Thor had listened through Loki’s narrative with a silent but growing dread, at the things Loki was forced to do in Thanos’ name, each more appalling than the last. But when it seems Loki has expended both memories and words, to share what happened to him after his fall, Thor throws his arms around Loki, folding him into an embrace safe and snug and protective, for the clasp of their hands is no longer enough contact, enough reassurance, against the horrors Loki had survived.

Long moments pass this way, with Loki curling his arms beneath Thor’s shoulders, hardly daring to believe this tenderness, this warmth. Clearing his throat, when Thor does not budge, even after a tiny prod to his ribs.

“If you hold me any tighter,” Loki says dryly, “Shuri will have to mend my bones anew, drawing her away from her study of the stones—and we both know her temper can rival Mother’s at her worst.” 

“That it can.” Thor laughs, glad for this moment of levity, though deep in his heart, he has resolved never to let Loki suffer such ills again. Then he remembers the hard lesson learned from the Loki he knew: that such vows, such affections must be shared, for fear of the other person never _knowing_. Voices the sentiment aloud instead, his face buried warm in Loki’s neck. “I swear to you,” he whispers, “that no harm shall come to you, ever again, as long as I draw breath.” Touches a kiss to Loki’s ear, a binding seal of his oath. “I would breathe my last to ensure it, Loki. I _would_.”

This is his chance to unspool a measure of the hurt and bitterness Loki keeps snarled within him, and Thor will not waste it. 

Loki only draws away from their embrace gently, his smile wan. “I appreciate the sentiment. But do not make promises you cannot keep. _Especially_ ,” he adds, pinching Thor in the side, a truer smile gracing his features at the startled yelp Thor makes, “ones that involve your _life_. Or the losing of it thereof.”

They speak of lighter things after that, Thor regaling Loki with stories of the Avengers’ antics, and anecdotes from his travels when away from Asgard. Loki is all too ready to poke fun at their misadventures and failings, and they while the time away like this, laughing, sharing secrets, as they had in the days of old, until the sun slips low beyond the horizon, signalling the day’s end all too soon. 

“We should return to the Citadel,” suggests Loki, yawning. “The day ahead of us is long.” 

Thor nods his agreement, watching as the sky deepens gradually into the colors of night, an orchid-darkness streaked with the rose pinks of dusk. Rises to his feet, acquiescing—then gathers the corners of his cloak in his hands, winding arms around Loki from behind. 

“What are you _doing_?” Loki says, puzzled, though he makes no move to step out of Thor’s embrace. 

“I worried you might be cold.” Thor takes a step forward, bold, gathering Loki more fully into his arms, until his cloak envelopes Loki’s body entire. Lets his warmth seep into Loki’s back.

"Perhaps you missed the other times I mentioned it,” Loki sighs, though his words lack the frost of days past, “but I am not Asgardian. I do not feel the—”

"No," Thor agrees easily, "though I recall that in _this_ form, you would.”

It was true Loki had not hoarded the lion’s share of their furs during winter hunts, or jostled for position near the hearth when they read, but Thor remembers Loki curling up in his arms after a nightmare, or during a thunderstorm, when the rain ran bitterly cold. And there were times Loki had burrowed his way under Thor’s cloak, claiming Thor warmed him faster than any furnace or forge of Asgard.

“Perhaps I…feel it less keenly,” Loki allows at last, his hands rising to cover Thor’s where they are wound around his waist. 

Despite Loki’s eventual protests of _Thor, we cannot walk like this, stop_ —for they must make a strange sight, a four-legged lump stumbling down the mountain, due to Thor’s amused insistence on keeping Loki wrapped and _warm_ —they find their way back to the Citadel without issue. Loki takes charge of navigating their route from the beads’ map display, all while Thor shuffles along, content, pressed snugly to Loki’s back. 

Upon entry to the palace, to report their return, Thor pilots their way through the underground passages back to Shuri’s lab, intending to inquire about alternate sleeping quarters, for he feels they have infringed on Shuri and her research space long enough. 

“There you are!” Shuri calls, when they return to the fluorescent-lit chambers. “Where have you _been_? The others were worried when you did not return soon after sunset.”

“We did not wander far.” Loki stills in his steps, amazement that others would worry for him plain on his face. “Besides, you could have contacted us with the beads, if our absence caused _that_ much of a panic.”

Shuri laughs. “Ah, yes—I _was_ going to call you using the beads, but I thought you both might have been otherwise occupied.” She glances knowingly at their joined hands then; Loki had flown Thor’s cloak nest upon entering the city, but it seemed neither of them wished to forego contact with the other for long, for they had knitted their hands back together shortly after.

Loki follows her gaze, before making to snatch his hand away, instant. But Thor holds fast to it, warmth threading through his heart when Loki sighs, curling fingers back around Thor’s. “Occupied, yes,” says Thor, the smile that tugs his lips growing wider when he catches Loki’s gaze. “With reacquainting ourselves.” It is as good an explanation as any.

Shuri nods, taking his reply in stride. But though Thor finds it ill-mannered to inquire about sleeping chambers after their late arrival, his and Loki’s stretchers are nowhere to be found.

“I also meant to tell you earlier,” Shuri says, gesturing at the corner where the stretchers once hovered, the area now filled with a table and tools of varied make, “but we intend to conduct some experiments with the stones. While we still have them. So I am afraid you must room elsewhere.” Before Thor can contemplate the thought of being left to fend for themselves, Shuri smiles. “There are guest chambers available in the East tower, enough for the two of you, should you wish them. Unless you prefer to room—”

“ _Together_ ,” Thor says at once. His fingers tighten meaningful around Loki’s, Loki’s consent returned through a nod. “We shall room together.”

“Excellent! I shall have the Dora Milaje show you to your room,” Shuri beams. And when Loki stands stock-still, startled at her nonchalance over his and Thor’s sharing of a room, Shuri only rolls her eyes and huffs. “For Bast’s _sake_ ,” she says, “even Queen Mother can see what you are to each other. You would do us all a favour by not injuring yourselves before the final battle, tripping in the dark trying to sneak into each other’s rooms.”

Thor blinks, equally startled by her frankness. But then he recalls it was Shuri who had stumbled upon them numerous mornings in her lab, the two of them curled together on their stretchers.

“Thank you,” he says, for her easy acceptance of what he and Loki share. “ _Thank_ you.”

Shuri simply flaps her hand, having turned back to the contraption on her workbench. “Just do not be late for tomorrow’s meeting!” she calls. 

And when the Dora Milaje arrive to escort them to their room, Thor cannot help but feel doubly thankful, for the day has been _long_ , and the ones ahead will only be longer still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) _Thor points at a cluster of hardy mountain lilies, their dove-white petals dyed bronze in the waning light. "These were your favourite flowers back on Asgard, were they not?”_ : Loki’s early outfits were said to be inspired by calla lilies, in a post found [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BmZKiynnPjN/?hl=en). If, in-universe, one could believe Loki had fashioned his own clothing based on this flower, it would stand to reason that it might be his favourite flower as well. 
> 
> 2) While polishing the upcoming sections and making scene breaks, I realized this fic will surpass the originally expected 6 chapters. So I’m adjusting the number of chapters this has, in order to keep from dropping huge 15-18k word chapters on you guys. Thanks again for your patience!


	5. Flourish

~

Shortly after Loki has shared with Shuri his advice regarding the Tesseract, to prevent the city from collapsing on them in her pursuit of knowledge, they wind their way to the East tower. Trail after the stern and silent Dora Milaje to their room, their footfalls the only sound besides that of their guides’ imposing spears, striking the ground firm with each step.

The journey to the guest chambers is far more scenic than the corridors leading down to those for research; instead of slate-grey walkways laid with charcoal tile for utility, they pass through halls laid with intricate woven garnet runners, warm bronze tile set in diamond patterns on each side. Beneath the high ceilings, vaulting arches rise bold from the floor, their keystones each embossed with a panther, and piers carved with delicate leaves, the workmanship so exquisite it seems they are twined in real ivy themselves. 

Within the alcoves they shelter are statues, presumably of Black Panthers that watched over Wakanda before, their stances ready for battle and claws poised to strike. And though Thor knows they are among friends here, he cannot help but pull Loki closer, protective.

“We are here,” says one of the Dora Milaje, after they have passed stairways spiralling upward to other floors, and rooms embellished each with an image of an elephant, zebra, and lion among others. They stop before a set of wide double doors, the burnished metal adorned with a mosaic of green and gold tiles, which, upon a closer look, resolve into an emerald, golden-bellied snake, coiled regal around a branch. “The Mamba Room.”

Thor only beams, for this room’s theme is too coincidental for Shuri not to have chosen it herself. To put Loki at ease.

“Should you need refreshment, the queen has provided a platter made from tonight’s dinner for your comfort,” says the other guard. And as Thor gives his thanks, he cannot help the amusement welling up in his heart from the way Loki pushes ahead to inspect the victuals. 

Along with a pitcher of fresh water is a pot of rice tossed with tomatoes, onions, and chilli peppers, with generous portions of beef spread along the sides. A platter of sourdough dumplings sits beside it, with a pepper sauce for dipping, and a tray of fruit with small pies, arranged from savoury to sweet, rests further off, presumably to be eaten at the last.

The food is cooling, but keeps warmth enough to savour the flavours, and Loki ploughs through it, ravenous. Pausing only to pinch pieces from Thor’s plate. “When did Shuri send food?” Loki asks between bites. “How did Shuri know to send it _here_? And how did she know we had not eaten?” Thor only smiles at this sweetly endearing rhetoric, before Loki answers his own question, his logic leaps and bounds ahead of Thor’s, and not always comprehensible. “Ah—for the same reason she knew not to call us on the beads. Of _course_.”

An impressed little hum escapes him, Loki murmuring that Shuri’s intellect makes her a worthy ally indeed, though Thor simply laughs in response. Slides over portions of his sweet pies, when Loki has run out. 

After their quick and quiet dinner, they prepare for bed, long-ago rituals from when they would share a room returning as naturally as breathing; Loki draws the breezy silk curtains shut, as lovely as the city’s night view is from their bayed window, while Thor ensures all entryways are secure, for it would not do to have thieves or intruders steal in during the night. And when such things have been seen to, and their nightly ablutions done, Loki summons a series of small mage lights, honey-bright and soft. Cozy touches to warm the ambience, so they do not feel so far from home. A familiarity Thor appreciates more than the features of the domed ceiling, which, with a wave of his Kimoyo beads, can cycle through a visage of the night sky, the ocean floor, or the infinity of space, too vast and foreign for his tastes. 

“Loki?” Thor whispers, when they have slipped beneath the covers. Compared to the cozy comfort of their stretchers, their new arrangement makes the bed feel too big, and Loki far too distant. When Loki does not answer, Thor cuddles closer, regardless, and gathers Loki into his arms. Revels in the warmth Loki emanates through the thin fabric of his tunic, this and Thor’s trousers the only barrier between them now. 

Loki shifts sleepily in his arms, but does not reply otherwise, though Thor does not require it. Simply watches Loki, believing even this moment to be a miracle, a wonder. Sifts fingers through Loki’s hair, before bringing a lock of it to his nose, breathing in the scent of citrus-sweetness and sage. 

“I love you, Loki,” he whispers. Testing the words, _tasting_ them, finding they are not so strange after all. Wishing he had shared this sentiment earlier, more often, instead of disguising it with a laugh, a barb, a jibe. To let Loki _know_ he had been loved, instead of going to his end thinking himself alone and uncared for. 

Thor’s breath shivers out of him then, guilt rising in his chest. And because he can say it to this Loki, he _does_ , for he needs Loki to hear the words. To _know_. “I love you.”

Loki stiffens in his arms, his shallow breaths ceasing, sudden, making the silence between them all the louder. But Thor does not retract his words; only tilts Loki’s face to meet his, his heart hurting, knowing this Loki needs the same affections, the same tenderness, and not the echo of them to another with his face. “I love _you_.” 

The sentiment is careful, but no less heartfelt and honest, and in the moonlight filtering pale through the curtains, Loki’s eyes flutter open, his gaze unwavering. Taking in Thor’s expression, reading his cues, _assessing_ him. And, as if he has decided there is no lie in Thor’s words, he turns into Thor’s touch, pressing a tiny kiss to the palm cradling his cheek. Lets the caress of his lips advance, when Thor does not stop him, to Thor’s wrist, cautious and light. Marking a path up his forearm. 

And when he reaches Thor’s elbow, Thor reverses the flow of their kisses, taking Loki’s fine-boned fingers in his. Brushing his lips along each fingertip, precious, before touching a kiss to each knuckle. His wrist. Traversing the same path Loki followed across forearm and elbow—pausing at each pulse point to ensure the beat of Loki’s heart, safe and steady and strong—before blazing a new trail, nuzzling his way up Loki’s arm. Kissing the rounded jut of his shoulder. 

He has made his way to the smooth column of Loki’s neck, when the compulsion to meet Loki’s mouth seizes him, the _want_. “Loki,” Thor breathes, the air shivering out of him, hot, “I want to—I need—” Cannot hold himself back, his thumb brushing warm against Loki’s lips, as he leans in to kiss him. 

Stops himself just in time, searching for permission, for Loki to _allow_ him—when Loki cups the nape of his neck, drawing him in, _pulling_ him into a kiss that is warm and full and sweet. 

Thor winds his arms around Loki then, tugging him closer to lap at the sweetness of his lips. His tongue. Peppers his cheeks and nose and brow with tiny, tender kisses, first hesitant, then surer, bolder, before returning to the warmth of Loki’s mouth, the heat of his breath hot against Thor’s skin. Traps Loki’s lip between teeth, wanting to revel in his presence, their closeness, to breathe in his air. Delighting in the way Loki laughs quiet against his mouth, drawing an answering giggle from Thor, for this is more than Thor could have hoped for, could have _dreamed_.

They spend long moments this way, just holding each other, breathing, fingers roving exploratory over skin, a repose broken only by sporadic pecks of their lips. The experimental touch of their tongues. And when Thor decides to delve deeper, pressing his tongue daring against Loki’s, Loki’s lips part easily beneath his, deepening their kiss, an affection Thor outright _moans_ into, for it feels good and _right_ —a sensation long missed, as nothing had _felt_ right after Loki died, his world tilted askew, off-kilter and _wrong_. 

He is snatched from these thoughts when Loki’s hand wanders to his length, palming Thor’s cock from over his trousers. Stroking with purpose.

Thor catches his wrist, immediate. “Loki, _wait_.”

“This _is_ what those touches and affections have been leading up to, is it not?” Loki tilts his chin up, fearless, as if shame and guilt have no place here. 

“That is not _all_ the touches and affections were leading up to,” says Thor, stung at his actions misconstrued. “Besides, I…I had hoped, in time, to share such intimacies with the Loki _I_ knew. The _you_ of years later.”

It does not feel fair to engage in such a thing, for on one hand, it would seem he was taking advantage of _this_ Loki, and on the other, being unfaithful to the Loki he lost. A moral quandary, to be sure, one Thor cannot navigate skilfully. He wrestles with this tangled skein of emotions and guilt a moment longer, before Loki sunders it, simple, his fingers brushing gentle along Thor’s cheek.

“ _I_ am here now,” Loki insists, showing how much he wants this in return. “Share them with _me_.”

At such bold and willing declaration, Thor surrenders, wholly, readily, for he has wanted Loki so badly, missed him so _much_. Lets Loki press him to the bed, for more kisses, more affections, from his lips wandering gentle over the bridge of Thor’s nose, to his feather-light nuzzling along cheeks and lips and jaw. And though Thor wonders if it is a moment of weakness that lets him allow this, Loki only presses a finger to Thor’s lips, before he can voice the thought.

“Not weakness,” Loki whispers, seeming to peer into Thor’s mind, “but the culmination of _wanting_. And on both our parts, perhaps long overdue.”

 _Yes_ , thinks Thor, remembering the tug of longing through the years. Visions drifting fleeting behind his eyes, of Loki resting quiet in repose with a book. His eyes aglow at the discovery of new magic. Or seated atop his steed, laughter playful, bright in his throat as he outrode Thor in a race. All of it sparking an aching _want_ within Thor, who had never acted, never _dared_ —

“Too long,” Thor agrees. He kisses Loki’s finger before pulling him in for a proper kiss, hand warm at the nape of Loki’s neck. Revelling in this bliss, this closeness—from the heat of Loki’s breath on his skin, to the sweetness of his tongue, the flavour of their dinner plums lingering long in each meet of their mouths—since he _can_.

He has nuzzled his way to Loki’s neck, nipping pinpricks of pleasure down his jaw and into his throat, when Loki shivers, a motion that has Thor tugging Loki safer into his arms, instinctive. 

“I have _wanted_ this,” breathes Loki, an ache of longing threaded deep within each word. Perhaps one to match Thor’s in size, and scope, and years. He closes his eyes, his lashes fanning wet along his cheeks, the breath he draws shaky and soft. “I have wanted this so _much_.”

“I wanted this too,” Thor whispers back. “I wanted _you_.” It is on the tip of his tongue to explain _why_ he had not said so earlier, for they could have shared this pleasure, this love, much sooner—perhaps the foolishness of youth, then the reticence born from all that came between them after—but Loki kisses him then, hot and hard and _wet_ , and all such thoughts fly from his mind. It is enough, Thor thinks, it _must_ be, to know they share this mutual desire now, even if they had not spoken so before.

And because it is entirely unjust for him to be the only one unclothed—Loki had shifted Thor’s trousers over his hips, subtle, before flinging the offending garment to the floor—Thor slips his fingers beneath Loki’s tunic, a soft and supple leather. Savouring warm skin for brief moments, before Loki stays his hand.

“Loki?” Thor breathes. His resistance is puzzling, and not without its sting. But if Loki has changed his mind, Thor will not press the matter. Before he can respect Loki’s guarded motion by drawing away, however, Loki laces their fingers together. Keeps Thor’s hand, despite his wariness, his doubt.

“You…may not like what you see,” Loki says at last, voice too quiet and ashamed. 

He does not elaborate with words, but from the way he draws his tunic tight around his shoulders, leaving no part of him exposed, Thor can guess at his meaning. Recalls the horrors Loki recounted, the torture he had suffered at Thanos’ hands. That of his lieutenants. Each of whom had a hand in breaking Loki’s spirit, his body, his will—including the deepest betrayal of all—Maw’s use of magic, a talent Loki prized above all else—to break his _mind_.

Simply the thought of them again, standing cold and cruel on the Statesman, an ark meant to protect, to preserve _life_ , but instead became a tomb, gives Thor’s stomach an ill turn. And Loki had—Loki had cloaked his fear with a smile, affecting indifference, amusement even, in his play for time. His failed bid at betrayal. How strong his brother must have been, to act so carefree and untroubled when faced with his torturers once more. To smile, brave, however false it was.

Loki undoes the lacings of his tunic now, slowly, surely, undressing himself of his own accord. Studying Thor’s expression as the tunic falls free, revealing what he has hidden, all this time. 

“ _Look_ at me,” he says, with the bitterness of winter wind. Spreading his palms as if uncovering a scandalous master painting. 

A webbing of scars sprawls along his back, spidering broad across his arms, his chest, his belly. Bruises, though weeks-old and healing, bloom blue and green within pale skin. And at the small of his back, a place Thor had often rubbed comfort into, when Loki nestled safe into his warmth, shaking from nightmares, is the mark of a burn, or dare Thor think it, a _brand_ —a twisted, warped, starburst of a thing that hurts Thor’s heart to see it. Thanos must have _known_ Loki’s heritage, and how better to bend the will of a Jötunn to his, to mark, to torture one, than with _heat_? 

“Oh, _Loki_ ,” Thor whispers, his voice shaky and hurt, his fingers curling protective around the ones Loki lets him keep. _I did not know, did not see_. He thought Loki would first reveal the river-blue hue of his birth. The crimson shade of his eyes. Had prepared for such a thing, along with words he might say. But to be taken into Loki’s confidence about _this_ is another privilege entirely, for they are each of them an admission of a time when Loki was powerless, exposed.

“I am a litany of scars and ragged edges, no part of me left unmarred. I…” Loki has fallen quiet, subdued. Picks at a thread in the bedspread, not daring to meet Thor’s gaze. “I am not beautiful.”

There _is_ beauty, Thor believes, in Loki bearing the scars of his trials. The stories of his survival inscribed into skin. Hurts he had hidden in the baths, bared only now, only to _Thor_ , which required making himself vulnerable. Showing his trust. A gesture that touches Thor’s heart so deeply, a deluge of emotion wells out deep from within. 

But the words to describe how much this means to Thor sit clumsy on his tongue, like clumped honey, like molasses, so Thor simply tugs Loki forward by their joined hands, to gather him into his arms. Splays fingers along such scars and hurts, stroking each as gentle as he can, as he shakes his head and says, “You are to _me_.” 

Loki shivers beneath Thor’s touch, breath quivered quiet from his throat, as if he had not expected such tenderness. Lets Thor guide him to the bed, press him down into soft sheets as he brushes fingers along these reminders of wounds Loki suffered, reverent. Worships each with his lips, as if each kiss wandering over Loki’s chest, his ribs, the divot of his navel, could heal the pain that had brought Loki such scars.

Vowing, as Thor nuzzles each bruise and ridge of reformed skin, his own heart aching at each new discovery, that though he could not protect Loki from these wounds, was not there to _stop_ it, he will not let Loki suffer such harm again. 

And when Loki’s breath hitches, a moment of rare sweetness, Thor takes it as encouragement to nuzzle lower into soft curls, intent on giving pleasure to counter Loki’s pain. Revelling in the scent of him, the hint of sandalwood soap drawing Thor in, until nuzzling is not enough, and Thor’s tongue darts out to taste, to _savour_ the flavour of him. Licks his way up the seam of Loki’s sac, relishing the full-bodied _groan_ Loki makes at such a motion, before sucking one perfect globe into his mouth. Rolling his tongue along its edge, rounded, lovely, then doing the same with the other.

“ _Thor_ ,” Loki whispers, fingers buried in Thor’s hair. “I— _ah_.”

“Good?” asks Thor, perfectly innocent, grinning at the hiss Loki releases when he rasps his beard against Loki’s balls, for mischief and pleasing friction both. But he does not play fair, as Loki well knows, and before his brother has breath to answer, he kisses the tip of Loki’s cock, teasing. Flicks his tongue against the slit, then circles the crown entire with warm wetness, delighting in Loki’s gasping, shivering little _oh_. Closes his lips over it, _finally_ , and swallows him down, his other hand stroking what he cannot take in, fingers ringed around the base of Loki’s cock. Kneading clever at the seam of his sac.

Loki arcs off the _bed_ at such pleasure, and Thor pins him down, instant. Anchors him to the sheets, hands wrapped snug around Loki’s hips. But it is not enough, and Thor finds himself lacing his fingers together, tight, palms splayed wide on Loki’s belly. Humming his amused disapproval around Loki’s cock, watching as he twitches and moans in Thor’s grasp.

Loki’s hands join Thor’s soon enough, with an anxious scrabbling at his fingers, a whisper of _So close_ tight in his throat. And Thor, being an utter _tease_ , ceases his efforts at once. Slides his way back up, biting wine-dark bruises into Loki’s thighs in his ascent. Nipping kisses at the softness of Loki’s belly, the broad plain of his chest, and each cherry-peaked nipple, so pert, so vulnerable, before guiding their mouths back together, Loki’s tongue against his all the sweeter for the wait.

He pushes his hips against Loki, meaning to grind their cocks together, rasp his length against Loki’s for sweet, pleasurable friction, until they have both found completion this way. Until they have spilled hot and _wet_ between them—because though Thor longs for more, it is not right to ask that of Loki. Not when they have just discovered this closeness. This intimacy. 

But Loki begs so sweetly beneath him, shattering the walls of Thor’s reservations entire. “ _Please_ , Thor,” he whispers, his voice so deliciously _tight_ , his thighs spread inviting beneath Thor’s. His fingers press needy, wanting into Thor’s skin. “Take me. Make me _yours_.”

“I—” Thor tries, though what remains of his resolve crumbles, quick. “We have nothing to ease the way.” He would not injure Loki in an ill-prepared coupling, as much as he wishes to be one with him. Spittle would hardly be enough, and though Thor could trouble the kitchens for a jar of oil, or lard, he is loath to leave Loki like this, vulnerable, raw, his emotions laid bare.

Loki only snorts, dispelling Thor’s worries at once. Breathes a word, old and fey, more ancient than any language Thor recognizes, his hum resounding for brief seconds before a bottle leaps nimbly into his hand. “I saw this in the adjoining bathroom earlier,” Loki says, by way of explanation, and Thor nods, recalling now the generous toiletries stacked within. 

The phrase _body lotion_ is looped leisurely across the bottle, and Thor has a moment to catch _aloe_ and _mango_ beneath that before Loki uncaps it, the liquid spooling graceful into his hand, the sweet scent of fruit filling the air. Nudges Thor onto his back, Loki’s palm wrapped easy around Thor’s cock, slicking the length of it, thorough.

And when Loki deems them both ready, he leans in, the brush of his lips warm against Thor’s all too welcome. Lifts his hips, his hands braced steady against Thor’s chest, as Thor guides himself into Loki, careful. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Loki gasps, unable to hide the shiver that takes him as Thor slips inside. His fingers tremble along Thor’s chest, and though he continues his descent, his subtle wince—a tiny furrow in his brow here, the twitching frown in his mouth there—and another tiny gasp of hurt is all Thor needs to halt him. 

“Loki, have you…” Thor asks, his voice pitched quiet, his hands braced gentle against Loki’s hips, to pause his progression. “Have you ever…?” 

“With my fingers, yes.” A flush creeps into Loki’s cheeks, rose-pink and bright, whether from annoyance or embarrassment at this admission, Thor cannot tell. “But I can—”

“Then we shall start with _that_ ,” Thor says firmly.

He guides Loki onto his back, before taking hold of the bottle Loki cast onto the night table. Wrings out lotion enough to slick his fingers, before pressing one against the tight furl of muscle. Eases it in, searching, aimed, and upon hearing Loki’s gasping little _ah_ , strokes within him, relishing the heightened pitch of Loki’s moan at the motion. 

Thor had crept into Asgard’s archives often enough to thumb through their more notorious works—an effort to look studious in front of Loki when younger—and puts such knowledge to use now, following his first success with the entry of another finger, then a third, until Loki is a shivering, panting mess beneath him. Each clever curl and stroke of Thor’s fingers drawing a cry sharper, sweeter than the last.

“Oh, Norns— _inside_ me,” Loki pants, trying, failing to still Thor’s other hand, the one wound deft around Loki’s length. Pressing just the right amount of rough against the slit, wringing a moan from Loki so delicious, so _deep_ , a current skitters down Thor’s spine in echoing pleasure. “Now, please, _now_.” 

Loki’s eyes are so wide and imploring, Thor is hard-pressed to deny him, and truth be told, he has reached his own limits as well. “If…if you are ready,” Thor says, hesitant, the sight of Loki forcing himself through what should be a leisure, a mutual _joy_ , still a shadow in his mind.

“Ready,” Loki assures him. Huffing, impatient, when Thor draws away, slow, taking care to press a pillow beneath Loki’s hips. Brushes their lips together for one kiss, then another, each soft, sweet, reassurance that Loki is loved and cherished and adored—a laugh startled from him when Loki ruts against his thigh, whine high in his throat as he grouses, “ _Ready_.”

“All _right_ ,” Thor concedes, the smile twitching at his mouth growing broad into a grin. He slicks himself with the lotion, generous—perhaps _too_ much so, judging by its drip on the sheets, though he shall row with the launderers _later_ —and presses inside, Loki’s legs settling easy around his hips. Sinks in, slow, with each breath Loki draws, until he has pushed all the way in. 

But even if they are joined as closely as they can be, Loki so hot and incredibly _tight_ around him, Thor only stays in place, unmoving. Savouring the sensation of being one with Loki, being _inside_ him, and revelling in the immense feeling of connection formed between them. 

“Loki,” he whispers, arms curling gentle beneath Loki’s shoulders. Holding him, like a treasure, one long-lost and dear. “ _Loki_.” 

Loki’s only reply is to cradle Thor’s face in his palms. Bring their foreheads together, his gaze never once leaving Thor’s, as if he must memorize this moment, sear it forever into his mind. Confirm it is _real_ , as if he dares not believe. Seconds pass, first one set of ten, then another, until Loki lets his eyes drift shut, his nod near-imperceptible as his breath shudders out of him, shaky and hot against Thor’s cheeks. 

“We are here,” Thor murmurs, his hands stroking soothing along Loki’s shoulders. Chafing warmth into them, soft. “This is no illusion, no dream, no _trick_.” He cannot imagine the tortures or deceptions Loki had gone through in his time away from Asgard, though it would not be beyond his captors to prepare a mental mimicry of such love, one cold and cruel and ugly; can only provide comfort and solace as he does now. “This is _real_.”

“Real,” echoes Loki, his voice tremulous, his thumbs tracing the crest of Thor’s cheekbones, wondering. “ _Yes_.” The kiss he presses to Thor’s mouth is anxious, unsure, but Thor deepens it soon enough, tilting their mouths together just _so_. Delving his way into Loki’s, urging him into reciprocating, Loki all too happy to comply. 

In short moments, the kisses they share grow urgent, rougher, Thor sucking rose-red into Loki’s lips, while Loki nips and nibbles and licks, tongue pressing bold into Thor’s mouth. Hands buried deep in Thor’s hair, tugging him closer, deeper, until he can trace Thor’s lips, his teeth with his tongue, before winding it clever around Thor’s.

And when they draw apart for air, Thor cannot _stop_ , pressing kisses hot to Loki’s jaw, his throat, believing he can feel the jump of Loki’s pulse from within—a constant thrum, then faster, _faster_ , the hummingbird flutter of it quickening with each press of Thor’s lips to his skin. 

It is not long before their bodies mirror the rhythm of their mouths, Thor’s thrusts starting small and measured, before growing steady, surer, each roll of his hips drawing soft cries of pleasure, sounds broken only by the meeting of their lips, Loki’s moans muted into whimpers beneath Thor’s mouth. 

“Like _that_ ,” Loki shudders, as Thor grazes the site he had stroked fingers against earlier, the one that made Loki tighten around him, unthinking. “Yes, like _that_.” Thor’s thrusts drive the breath from him, until all he can manage is the tiny gasps of _yes, yes, yes_ between each. Starts urging him on for faster, harder, snapping his hips up, sharp, goading Thor into driving his hips in rougher, deeper. Pushes against him, digging his heels into the bed when Thor does not comply. “More, _more_ —”

“Loki,” Thor breathes, finding this new fierceness troubling, “ _stop_.” Pins Loki down with his weight, pressing him back into the sheets, to urge him into slowing. Calming him with a kiss to his brow, light. The tip of his nose. “What is it?” Another to the corner of his mouth. “What is it that troubles your heart?” Loki had seemed frantic, almost _desperate_ in their coupling, and if he can ease Loki’s mind so they may enjoy this together, then so much the better.

But Loki only turns from Thor’s gaze, as if he has made enough admissions this night. Lets himself fall slack beneath Thor, as if in surrender.

Thor nuzzles into Loki’s neck, undeterred, hoping to unearth the root of Loki’s troubles. “There is no need to rush, Loki,” he says, his kisses peppering the column of Loki’s neck, gentle. “Take as much time as you wish.” He rolls his hips forward, slow, methodic, and meaningful, delighted at the low moan it pulls from Loki, involuntary. “Enjoy how we feel as we move together. For we _can_ now. We _can_.”

This is not a frenzied coupling fuelled by lust, but a moment motivated by _love_ , and Thor would have him know it.

“Oh,” says Loki, so small, so quiet, Thor’s heart twists in his chest. “Oh, _Norns_.”

His lashes are damp with the tears that appear, the spill of them hot and wet down his cheeks. And though Loki scowls, as if his face has betrayed him, the tremble of his lips and shoulders and body entire are evidence enough of his true emotions. 

“I thought—” Loki tries, through a hitching breath. “I thought you only wanted—and if we could only have this _once_ , I—” 

The rest is broken by Loki’s shivering, wet gasps, his attempts at holding back a sob, but Thor can hear what Loki means to say well enough: he had thought this moment a singularity, spurred by Thor’s grief, his longing, and no small measure of desire. Had been ready to provide what he thought was expected—a quick and meaningless congress, thinking it to be all he deserved, and all he was wanted for.

“Loki, _no_ ,” whispers Thor, cradling Loki’s cheeks in his palms. “That—no.” For all the care he had taken to reassure Loki of the opposite, Loki had still managed to misread this so badly. He presses his brow to Loki’s, the breath they share hot between them. “ _No_.” 

The final nail in the coffin, the words that wound Thor’s heart deepest, is the last layer of Loki’s confession: “I thought…if this was the only time, the only way I could have you, I would take it.” Loki’s eyes flutter shut then, as if he has given up his innermost secret, his deepest shame, and cannot bear what judgement falls next.

The thought that Loki would take this, would cling to what scraps of affection Thor doled out, and in whichever form, like _charity_ , strikes such a chord of sadness in Thor’s heart he cannot hold back a sob of his own. “You…you shall have me,” he murmurs, reassuring Loki with a kiss to the mouth proper this time. “Whenever, and in whichever way you wish.” 

But though Loki slides hands along Thor’s back, fingers stroking careful over his hips, showing how he wishes to _have_ Thor this moment, he still cannot meet Thor’s gaze. Choosing to believe still that this is a dream, perhaps. Hiding behind the fiction that in the real world, he cannot have this. 

Thor does not force Loki to open his eyes, to return his gaze; simply kisses his love into Loki’s cheeks. His eyelids. The corners of his mouth. Reassurance that he is _wanted_ , for more than this moment, this purpose, their quest. “Loki, look at me,” he says softly, echoing Loki’s words from short moments ago. “Please. There is no need to hide. Not with me.” Brushes the hair from Loki’s brow, gentle, his night-dark curls spilling lovely across the pillow. 

Every motion of Thor’s affirming the words he had spoken to Loki in earnest: _I love you. I love you. I love_ you. 

And when Loki acquiesces with a sigh, his breath shivering out of him, soft, his eyes rimmed red but full of vulnerable _hope_ , Thor beams, unabashed. 

“Look at you,” Loki sniffs, though his voice lacks the knife-edge of days past, and the heartrending hurt from moments ago. “Grinning like a simpleminded fool.”

“A fool in love,” Thor returns, his grin growing wider, even as Loki crinkles his nose at the sentiment—for even _he_ cannot miss the smile playing about the corners of Loki’s mouth. Leans in to kiss that smile, coaxing it wider, until Loki allows the barest dip of his tongue inside. The nibble of his lip between teeth, before Thor dares a move bolder, pressing forward to nibble on Loki’s tongue. 

A motion Loki encourages, letting Thor push in entirely, to swallow Thor’s tongue down in turn. 

“Loki? Are we—” Thor whispers, when they have drawn back briefly for air. “Can we—?” He would know that this is allowed, that Loki is content with moving forward. 

“Yes.” Loki’s reply is measured this time, unhurried, showing he understands Thor’s intent. The meaning now, of what they share. “ _Yes_.” And because he is assured that this is no rushed and hasty joining, he takes his time in return, tracing the veins and corded muscle of Thor’s arms. The jut of his shoulders. Pauses to pinch Thor’s nipples between fingers—grinning far too delighted at the coral flush sprung to Thor’s cheeks, the startled _ah_ pulled unwitting from his throat—before winding arms around Thor’s neck. Drawing him down for a kiss, slower, sweeter, but no less ardent.

It takes little time to build the rhythm back between them, their motions a mirror of their mouths, their kisses growing hotter and harder with each touch, until Thor is rocking _deep_ into Loki with each thrust, dragging a breathy moan from Loki each time. 

“There— _again_ ,” Loki gasps, when Thor angles them just _so_ , a sob escaping outright when Thor obliges, once more, then twice, relishing the fire filling Loki’s cheeks, racing quick down his neck into his chest.

It is a wonder, a _delight_ , to see Loki in such throes, of ecstasy and emotion. To watch him take pleasure in this act truly, for _himself_. But it is nowhere near enough for Thor, hungry for more of this, more of _Loki_ to consume, and he snatches a pillow from the head of the bed, then another, propping them beneath Loki’s head. Bringing him closer that he may drink in Loki’s reactions, feast on them, _gorge_ on them, from every sigh and gasp to each flutter of his lashes, dark against pale skin. Weaves his palms together, to cradle Loki’s head, his neck, as if he is precious and rare, to catch his gaze, to _keep_ it, Loki holding Thor’s face in turn, his own tears dried, his pupils blown wide. 

“So beautiful,” Thor murmurs, breathing in Loki’s air, his scent, memorizing the forest-depths of his eyes. “In every way. I am sorry it took so long for me to—”

Loki hushes him with a kiss, his thumbs brushing gentle along Thor’s lips. As if to say there is no room for apology here, only _action_ , the motion spurring Thor into new ardour, his kisses nuzzled deep into Loki’s neck, dark, bruising, to the underside of his jaw, his thrusts harder, sharper, _aimed_ as Loki demands. 

“Please,” Loki moans, bracing himself for each thrust with hands tight on Thor’s shoulders. Scrabbling fingers along his sweat-slick back, raking trails of sharp heat down for more, for _harder_ , ankles twined snug around Thor’s waist when Thor slows. Crying out when Thor _twists_ his hips with each entry in an effort to concede.

“Too much?” asks Thor, reassured when Loki shakes his head, his brow furrowed, his mouth slack with pleasure, managing the words, “Keep—keep _going_.” Grips the bedframe and _gives_ him the more, the harder, until Loki cries out on every stroke, each meeting of their hips driving the bedframe rough against the wall. 

Has moment enough to enjoy the sensation of Loki pulling him in, wanting more skin, more contact, more closeness, his mouth meeting Thor’s for small, nipping bites, the kisses they share fierce and hot, before Loki _shudders_ in his grasp. 

“Thor, _wait_ ,” Loki begs, his breaths coming hotter, faster, “I—I cannot—I am so close—”

“ _Do_ it,” Thor encourages, rolling his hips into Loki, a twist of them drawing forth a cry, one sweet and high. “Spill _all_ of it. Spill it for _me_.”

Such command is all Loki needs, and amid Thor’s goading of _as much as you want, as hard as you want_ , Loki gasps, his body drawn taut, hands clenched tight at Thor’s shoulders as he spends, pearl streaks across belly and chest. But Thor cannot let it rest there, dragging his fingers through the canvas of Loki’s belly, stippled now with his spend. Wicks away each perfect, precious drop, bringing his fingertips to his mouth, to lap, to taste, to _savour_ Loki’s flavour, a blend of tang and ripe sweetness.

“Oh, _Norns_ , Thor,” Loki gasps, his gaze dark, dim mage-light showing his pupils grown wide, as if the sight of Thor partaking in his essence, his _being_ is too delectable a sight. Pulls Thor in, to kiss, to lick, to taste himself on Thor’s lips, before foregoing modesty and swallowing his tongue down entire. 

Loki’s tongue wound so hot, so tight around his is too much, the taste of him shared between them too lovely, and Thor cannot help but delve deeper, licking into Loki’s mouth, searching for more sweetness. Pressing so deep in Loki’s throat that in one thrust of his tongue, _two_ , Thor cannot hold back the mirroring tide below, lunging deep into Loki the same, _flooding_ him with his seed, hot and deep and wet. 

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor whispers, shuddering in Loki’s arms. Panting harsh against Loki’s mouth, his shaky breaths broken only by the kisses they share, sweet, sporadic and soft. The nuzzle of Loki’s nose against his, intimate. The smile he presses into Loki’s lips, growing bright as Loki returns his own against Thor’s, cautious and shy.

And when they have recovered their breath, ardour growing between them again, gradual, Thor rolls his hips forward, his pace leisurely, rhythmic. Presses Loki to the bed, their fingers twined, their mouths joined for kisses unhurried just as their bodies below, until he has made Loki spill twice more, _thrice_ , from lovemaking as sweet as it is slow. Until Loki is a shaking, shivering mess beneath him, his lips swollen red, hair a tangle of midnight curls, all of him a beautiful chaos, all of him _Thor’s_.

 _Mine_ , Thor decides, holding Loki’s face in his hands, even as Loki swats at him, ineffective, murmuring sleepy, “No more, Thor. No _more_.” His heart filling with fondness enough to burst as Loki fits himself to Thor’s body, nestling perfect into Thor’s warmth, sated, spent. _All mine_.

 _All mine_.

~

They are hours away from their shared pleasure when Thor wakes sudden in the night, cheeks wet with tears, sweat beading chilled at his brow.

“Loki,” he sobs upon waking. Reaching for comfort, for anything, for he had seen within dreams Loki unmoving and cold before him on the Statesman, when moments ago, he was full of wit and warmth and _life_. A nightmare that haunts his sleeping hours still, when the nights are darkest. “ _Loki_.”

Loki’s presence is immediate, his touch a soothing balm, a bright comfort against the bitter dark. “I am here now,” he says, winding arms warm around Thor’s back, stroking quiet circles into skin. Sliding a hand into Thor’s hair, to sift through it, gentle, matted with sweat though it is. “I am here,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Thor’s brow. The salt tracks trailing wet upon his cheeks. His lips. Each of them small and soft and warm. “There is nothing to fear.” 

At the low, hurt noise that escapes Thor, as if he does not _believe_ , Loki brushes more kisses, feather-light and sweet over his knuckles. His wrist. Draws Thor’s hand toward his chest, pressing the palm of it to his heart, the steady beat of it sure proof of his life. But even this is not enough, and Thor burrows into Loki’s arms, burying himself in Loki’s hair, his warmth, his scent, fitting himself into the hollow of Loki’s neck. Curling his arms beneath Loki’s for an embrace that is too tight, too _hot_ , even as his own heart knocks sore against his ribs, for he must make _sure_ Loki is well, Loki is unhurt.

It is an irony that it is _he_ who seeks comfort from Loki this night, and not the reverse; perhaps because his nights prior had been occupied with calming Loki’s night terrors and fears, he had forgotten his own—until now.

But Loki makes no mention of how forceful Thor’s embrace has become; only lets Thor take comfort in him as he will. Nuzzles kisses into his hair, hands stroking gentle along Thor’s spine. Twines his legs around Thor’s, the warmth and softness of his skin proving just how _present_ he is. 

And even as Thor’s great, shuddering sobs taper into soft, shivering breaths, Loki does not release him; only stills his hands around Thor’s waist, to tug him into an embrace of his own. Cards fingers through Thor’s hair, and as if he has guessed the content of Thor’s dream, whispers all the while, “I am here.” Repeating it quiet into Thor’s ear, the words themselves a spell, a solace, for Thor’s heart to hear. 

Long moments pass before Thor calms enough to loosen his arms around Loki, though he does not relinquish his hold. Takes refuge in Loki’s warmth instead, nestling against Loki’s chest, ear pressed close to the beat of his heart. Timing his breaths to the safe and steady rhythm, each beat of it affirmation, of _I am safe, I am alive, I am here_ , blending a harmony with Loki’s words, his voice muffled, melodic against Thor’s hair: _There is nothing to fear_.

And curled up in Loki like this, head pillowed snug on Loki’s chest, with Loki’s limbs wound warm around his, Thor returns to slumber, safe in the knowledge that there is nothing to fear indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) _“We are here,” says one of the Dora Milaje. “…The Mamba Room.”_ : Thor and Loki’s guest chamber is themed after the western green mamba, a graceful, venomous snake native to West Africa.
> 
> 2) _“…a pot of rice tossed with tomatoes, onions, and chilli peppers, with generous portions of beef spread along the sides…[And] a platter of sourdough dumplings, with a pepper sauce for dipping”_ : The dinner Shuri has sent to Thor and Loki’s chamber consists of _jollof rice_ and _kenkey_ , both staple dishes in Western Africa.
> 
>  **In the next chapter:** The awaited job interviews. A _plan_.


	6. Anticipate

~

It is a pleasure immense to wake in Loki’s arms the next morning, and Thor savours it, _basks_ in it, nuzzling into warm skin where he can. Twines his own arms around Loki, tight, pressing kisses up the length of his chest. The pale column of his neck. All while revelling in the tickle of Loki’s hair against his cheeks, the gentle spirals Loki’s fingers trace into his back—at least, until Loki nudges him away with a laugh.

“There will be time for leisure later,” he says. “But today, we have a _battle_ to plan.”

There is sense in this, Thor admits, grudging, and after a quick breakfast of yam porridge and _akara_ , a type of fried bean fritter, they find their way back to the throne room, where the council is set to reconvene.

Several others, including Tony and Bruce, have arrived ahead of them, waiting for the great doors to open, for it seems Shuri has not finished preparations just yet. Upon spying Loki through a gap in the door, however, Shuri beams, heaving the doors open in invitation. 

Not one to decline such a thoughtful gesture, Loki finds a seat within the room without fuss. 

“Whoa, bud— _hey_.” Tony catches Thor’s elbow before he can follow Loki through the chamber’s wide double doors. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to bring Loki back in here first thing? I mean, last time he walked in, he started off by pissing everyone off. We should warm them up a bit, get them used to—”

“I assure you, that was only Loki testing the tempers and ambitions of all those who were present that day,” says Thor. “With the right motivation, Loki will be a valuable ally. A fearsome foe against Thanos.” 

Tony glances into the room at where Loki sits, amusing himself with a flutter of tiny, golden butterflies as he waits for today’s council to commence. Shuri is clearly enraptured by such constructs, his magic so different from the _science_ she is devoted to, but holds its own mysteries all the same. Not for the first time, Thor finds himself thankful that Loki was not bound and shackled the instant he was vulnerable, as he was last time, but left to practice his magic and speak freely, spiteful or no. 

“I see that,” Tony nods slowly, raising a brow. “ _Fearsome_. Absolutely.”

“ _Motivation_ ,” echoes Bruce, dark circles ringing his eyes, his room located next to Thor’s and Loki’s. “Yeah, I think we all heard the sounds of _that_ last night.”

In truth, Thor considers it offering _affection_ rather than incentive, but if that is how they wish to think of it, they are welcome to it. And though heat springs quick to Thor’s cheeks at Bruce’s claim, he does not retreat. 

“I spoke of Loki’s brilliance at strategizing yesterday,” Thor says instead. “And you shall see evidence of that today.” With that, he sweeps into the council chamber, leaving Bruce and Tony to exchange shrugs and murmured _well okay, then_ ’s. 

Upon entry, Loki sets him to the task of collecting everyone’s lists, those Loki had bid them compose the day prior. To Thor’s surprise and pleasure, instead of compiling messy sheaves with writing ranging from undecipherable chicken scratch to lovely cursive, Shuri had evidently done them a favour greater, providing _all_ combat-eligible members with tablets to make their lists. Expediting the process considerably, and allowing Thor to assemble their documents into one easily scrollable file Loki can peruse. 

He has just handed Loki the primary tablet with the collected lists, Loki scrolling through them with a cursory glance, when Bruce raises a hand, hesitant. 

“Loki, I don’t mean to play devil’s advocate here, but since Thanos has the Space stone, he could be _anywhere_. And if his Time stone’s still working, any _when_.” Bruce nudges his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, thoughtful. “I’m just wondering what use the intel we’re gathering will be, if we don’t even know where Thanos _is_.”

“An excellent point to start this meeting with,” Loki beams, undeterred. “And I can tell you Thanos is a creature of habit; I have known him to have only several places he goes for repose. It is a matter of a simple scrying spell to confirm it, one I can perform now, to ease your minds.”

A murmur of unease ripples through the council elders, at the mention of _spells_ and by association, _magic_ —understandable for a culture that has shifted away from such things, into science and technology. But the others remain indifferent to such activities, for they have seen magic’s uses, whether through Strange and his associate Wong, or from Loki. And when Shuri endorses its use—quieting the dissent, for she has the final word on this—saying _unconventional circumstances call for unconventional ways_ , it is quick moments before the Dora Milaje bring the spell’s necessary components, as per Loki’s request. 

Okoye and another of her warriors heft a plain stone basin into the chamber, and place it on a mat within the centre table. A third warrior arrives bearing clay pots of water, a woven bag looped at her elbow with rounded stones and candles visible within.

“This water came from pots that sat overnight in the moonlight?” Loki murmurs, inspecting the liquid, careful.

“ _Several_ moonlights,” the warrior confirms, “collecting rainwater on a sill. Though I could not find the purple candles you requested.”

Loki waves away the apology, gracious. “No matter,” he says, studying the bag’s contents. “The white ones will do.” 

Within minutes, he sketches a crude charcoal circle around the basin, runes arcing coarse along its circumference, while from within, Loki loops beautiful, intricate designs, all of which fan out from the center to terminate in the runes for _air, fire, water_ , and _earth_. At its center, directly surrounding the basin, Loki crafts the rune for _knowledge_ , before leaning back to draw a breath. The process is an exhausting one, and though Thor wonders why Loki had not prepared the circle beforehand, it was likely he had not anticipated how large the basin they would bring was, if they had one at all. 

“Let me help you with the candle placement,” says Thor, pressing Loki back into his seat, worried by his brother’s panting breaths. His trembling fingers. “The water and stones should prove no hardship for me either. I would have you rest now, since the next stage is sure to tax you further.” 

“You recall how to prepare them?” Loki raises a brow, his lips parted in surprise. 

“I do.” Thor sifts through the mesh bag brought in, fingers closing around the candles, firm. Perhaps he had not been so skilled at fine spellwork and preparation as Loki, but he had helped often enough to remember _this_ , especially when they used it to scrye first on their parents’ location before making mischief. Or upon Iðunn’s whereabouts when they intended to pilfer apples without her knowledge. 

Loki’s smile is appreciative, soft, the brush of his fingers along Thor’s arm even more so. And Thor, who had long missed working with Loki like this, reciprocates the sentiment, catching Loki’s fingers and squeezing, the return of their old and easy collaboration warming his heart.

It takes little effort for him to place the tall, fluted candles at three equidistant points around the circle. Empty the heavy clay pots into the basin, the smell of rainwater pervading the room as he pours, powerful, evocative, the freshness of a spring storm joined with the earthen essence of the pots. 

And when those tasks are finished, Thor casts the rounded stones— their presence a focal point for the spell—into the basin’s center, careful, just as Loki once taught him, watching as their outward ripples still into serene tranquility. Scatters a small handful of shavings taken from Stormbreaker, from when the weapon pierced Thanos’ chest, remnants of his blood still imbued in the metal. 

“I need absolute silence,” Loki announces, rising to his feet when Thor’s preparations are complete. And once met with nods of all those in the council, he drips his sacrifice into the vessel, the _price_ for such knowledge, five drops of blood pricked from his finger. Lets his gaze settle into the basin, hands braced at its sides as he leans in. Eyes growing unfocused and dark as he peers into the water’s depths.

All the while, Thor keeps a hand steady on Loki’s waist, watching, careful, to ensure he does not tip into the water, unconscious, in his trance. 

Loki remains still and silent for long minutes. There are no theatrics, and smoke does not billow from the basin to fill the room, as it would for a showy and false conjurer. A disappointment to Tony and others who have not viewed such a spell in progress before, Thor can tell. But they all hold their silence as Loki asks, waiting respectfully for his return. 

After another worrying minute, _two_ —Thor knows better then to interrupt a scrying spell in session, but this feels far too long—focus returns to Loki’s gaze, his eyes clearing, Loki gasping as he wakes, as if drawing breath for the first time. And though Thor wishes to chafe warmth into Loki’s hands, gather Loki into his arms until the haunting emptiness in his eyes disappears, he knows Loki must process his sight from the spell. Tamps down on such protective instinct, pressing only a warm palm to Loki’s elbow instead. 

“What sights did the water show you?” he asks. 

Loki’s eyes flutter shut as he gathers his thoughts. “It seems Thanos has returned to Titan. A golden sun rises. There are…terraced fields, vast, filled with crops and greenery. A farm, I believe. And he remains alone on this planet.” Loki opens his eyes then, and blinks into the basin, puzzled. “That was easier than it ought to be; I expected Thanos to obscure his whereabouts with the help of the stones, but his presence appeared almost a _beacon_ of sorts instead.”

“A trap?” Thor whispers, worried. 

Loki shakes his head. “Thanos thinks us broken, defeated; he would not paint a target on his back to taunt us, for he believes we do not have strength enough to launch an offensive. No, this is the work of another power, the source of which I have not yet determined.” He pauses, fingers tapping light against the bowl, speculative. “I have my suspicions, but for now, let us accept this boon as it is.”

“As long as you believe this boon bears us no ill will,” Thor says, troubled, though he follows Loki’s lead for now. Watches Loki arc his wrist, elegant, spiriting the scrying items away for later use—as he had with the Tesseract, Thor supposes.

Loki squeezes Thor’s arm, reassuring, before turning to the council. Makes quick work of announcing that Thanos has returned to his home planet of Titan, and has prepared lodgings, so it appears he will remain there, for the foreseeable future, at least. “To put it more simply,” Loki says, “I bring glad news that Thanos has not traveled any _when_ , but only to a specific _where_.” 

“This scrying thing is _handy_ ,” Tony declares, beaming. “Can you imagine if we had that all the time?”

Such declaration nearly spurs Thor to voice his hope of having Loki join them. To carve out a place of Loki’s own among the Avengers. But Thor senses this is not the time, and though Loki has proved his worth to the council, he has not yet won their absolute trust. 

Still, with the assurance of Thanos’ location made, it seems the council’s decision to appoint Loki their lead is solidified, all members crowding in now, eager to hear what next he has planned. 

Which is when Loki, of course, standing at the head of the table, like a king holding court, grins wolfish and sharp. “Now, then— _job interviews_.”

~

It seems every member of the council has a grievance against Thanos, for all of them surge forward, tablets in hand, eager to see what Loki makes of their talents. Their gifts.

Loki’s voice rings out above the clamour, clearly amplified by a charm. “When you submitted your data lists at the start, your tablet identity was also entered into a randomized lot-drawing. If you look in the corner of your tablet now, you shall find the order in which you will be called.”

Thor, who had joined in the rabid jostling for a position in Loki’s queue, finds a bold and unmistakeable ‘1’ flashing green on his own tablet. “Oh!” he beams, delighted by such happy coincidence, for he will not have long hours to wait before speaking with Loki. 

“Can I just say,” Tony grumbles, staring at the innocuous ‘6’ blinking up at him before shooting Thor a sideways glance, “that this process seems more _nepotized_ than _randomized_?”

Bruce, with a steady, glowing ‘5’ of his own, pats Tony’s shoulder in consolation. “At least Thor’s part will be quick,” he shrugs. 

This statement rings true; Thor had not had much to add to his own list, scrawling a few hurried notes on Stormbreaker’s abilities and his own newfound powers before he and Loki rose to break fast. Little else had changed in the six years dividing them, a fact he informs Loki of now, and Loki only nods dutifully, filing such data away, before instating Thor as his official scribe. Creating the template in his tablet on which Thor can make notes, his columns marked _Skills, Technology_ , and _Encounters_.

With such preparations made, Loki spends preliminary minutes perusing the lists turned in to him and giving the technology and accessories brought before him a cursory glance. From the gleam in Loki’s eyes, Thor suspects the interviews are only a formality, perhaps a chance for Loki to glean information about his allies, that which could not be distilled into simple lists, or determine if there were minute details overlooked. 

Still, Loki clears his throat, moving the charade forward, even if Thor believes he has already formulated a plan. “Number Two on the list, come forth,” he calls, imperious. At Thor’s chagrined look, he appends a sulking, “ _Please_.”

Nebula approaches their table, her motions quick, precise, a living example of economy of motion. From her stormy expression, Thor expects Nebula would have bullied her way to the front, had she not been first in line already after Thor.

“Oh, it is _you_ ,” Loki says sourly, recognition rising swift as she draws near. “Tell me, daughter of _Thanos_ , do you still weep like a child at night, hoping for your father’s favour?”

Thor turns to admonish Loki, for _deliberately_ antagonizing an ally, but Nebula needs no such defence. “Tell me, ward of Odin,” she replies, scathing, “do you still wail for vengeance upon the father who never cared for you, or whimper and cry for your brother at night?”

Loki flushes scarlet, instant. “I—I do _not_ ,” he sputters, “I _never_ —”

Thor places a gentle hand on Loki’s knee. “I too, have wept for my brother, both for his absence, and his loss. There is no shame in this.” He pauses, before turning to Nebula. “This Loki is not long away from the torture he suffered at Thanos’ hands.” _And possibly yours_ , he does not say, but what goes unspoken is clear in the way he keeps Nebula’s gaze. “Please, remember that.” 

“Hmm,” says Nebula, non-committal, her arms folded over her chest, though something softens, slight, around the hard lines of her mouth and her eyes.

When Loki shows no sign of withdrawing hostilities, his grip on his tablet white-knuckled, his teeth clenched, Thor strokes his knee, a further comfort. “In this war, Nebula is _with_ us, not against us.”

Loki sighs at Thor’s frankness, knowing he speaks truth. Covers Thor’s hand with his beneath the table, in grudging appreciation for Thor putting himself between them, drawing the ire of both to play peacekeeper. And with a breath, deep and even, to put Nebula’s past loyalties out of mind, he moves forward with their interview, reserved if not entirely genial.

They learn from her that Thanos has forgone his armour in favour of the stones, confident in the power and might they bestow upon him. That Nebula had been able to land blows on him where others failed, courtesy of her training as an assassin, and her ability to sneak up on enemies unaware. Loki simply nods through her narrative, gesturing subtly on occasion for Thor to populate his note columns with the data gathered, but when it seems her description of her encounters with Thanos is near finished, Loki speaks, sudden. 

“This is all fine and well,” he says, peering brief at Thor’s copious notes within _Skills, Technology_ , and _Encounters_ , “but how do we know we can trust you?” At Loki’s use of _we_ , a frisson of warmth sparks its way up Thor’s fingers, from where their hands are joined, to his heart, and Thor cannot help the smile that twitches the corners of his mouth. “You trained under Thanos’ tutelage, and served at his side for long years, I recall.”

Nebula glances at the table, as if her gaze can bore through the very wood of it, to where Thor and Loki’s hands are connected. “He sacrificed my _sister_ to get the Soul stone,” she hisses. “I just want her back.” Thor nods, for this is a sentiment he can understand, but it seems Nebula is not yet finished. “I want revenge against the father who pitted us against each other like dogs. Who, with each loss of mine, made me into _this_.” 

She gestures to herself then, her arm murmuring a mechanic hum, the joints of her fingers clicking in commiseration. There is no question that _this_ refers to each cybernetic replacement made of her, until Nebula was more machine than organic being.

“Ah,” Loki says, beaming in the face of Nebula’s scarce-restrained rage. “We reach the crux of your motivations at last.” And before Nebula can question what bearing her motivations have on this venture, he adds, curious, “You said you can draw close to him without raising his awareness?” 

“He has underestimated me all my life.” Nebula’s voice is bitter, the story of such hurts writ in her body, her skin, each machine augment a horror on its own. “This time will be no different.”

“Excellent,” says Loki. He leans forward now, fingers steepled together, as if intrigued by such emotion. “I have just the role for you. One that will inflict profound _pain_ , the same you have known each day.” He affects a dramatic pause then. “The kind that will make Thanos beg for _death_ before the end.”

And whether it is their common purpose, or a shared empathy from fathers who treated them as the spares of _heir and spare_ , Loki’s slow-spreading grin is met with Nebula’s first in return, small and nasty and satisfied.

~

Their next interviews are considerably disheartening; Okoye reports her vibranium spear, despite her aim being true, had flown nowhere near Thanos, other fighters had essentially phased _through_ him, and Rhodey recalls having been stunned mid-air, frozen in stasis before being flung to the side, his particle beams and cannons ineffective. This was to say nothing of Thanos’ control over the earth, having imprisoned Natasha in a cage of jagged rock columns, and broken free of Groot’s vined entanglements without batting an eye.

Thor sighs, glancing at the _Miscellaneous_ column Loki has added to his notes, which remains woefully bare. 

“Has he _any_ weaknesses?” asks Thor, after Bruce’s interview yields the fact that Thanos had beaten Hulk soundly, before throwing him down like a rag doll, an act Thor had witnessed himself. That Bruce within the Hulkbuster could not even land a blow, having phased through Thanos and embedded in a cliff face, before he wrenched himself free. “Any at _all_?” 

Loki hums, thoughtful, underlining the solitary note Thor has made under _Miscllaneous_ —that of Thanos removing his armour in favour of the gauntlet. “His own hubris, perhaps,” Loki says at last. “But I need more information before we can put that to use, which brings me to someone I have wished to speak with for quite some—”

“ _Finally_.” Tony tromps up to the table without introduction, for he had seen Bruce depart short moments before. “It’s about damn _time_.” 

Thor suspects Loki had held Tony back intentionally, solely to irritate him into divulging more than he otherwise would. For when Loki inquires about the strategy Tony used to subdue Thanos on Titan, Tony is all too happy to share every last detail, in his characteristic, rapid-fire manner. Information Nebula was not privy to, having joined their group later. 

“And the miniature missiles you shot at him?” Loki says, tapping at his tablet as he furrows his brow, clearly referring to Thor’s notes. Tony’s armour had undergone countless advancements since they last met, and Thor hurries to transcribe all such changes Tony’s narrative reveals for Loki to mull over, from its shielding and cannon capabilities, to its upgraded laser and repulsor systems. 

“We tried those. They didn’t work.” Tony blinks, puzzled at Loki’s line of inquiry. 

“I _know_ they would have done nothing,” Loki says, waspish. “What I ask is this: what did Thanos _do_ when you sent them at him?”

“Braced himself for impact and took the explosions like a champ, I guess,” Tony shrugs.

Loki nods, considering such facts, before murmuring _perhaps not, then_ , which Thor dutifully makes a note of. A wise choice, for if they wished to incapacitate the Titan, they cannot have him coiling in on himself, like an endangered armadillo. 

“So?” Tony spreads his palms after sharing his account of events, searching for validation. Waits a beat while Loki and Thor trade a series of thoughtful _hmms_ and _perhaps_ between them, discussing the matter silently through the telepathic link Loki formed from their knees pressed together. “What do you say? Think it could work again?”

After a moment of deliberation, Loki nods. “I see no reason to reinvent the wheel.” He traces the edge of his tablet, pensive, a sign of him giving this true thought, before nodding again, firm. “This plan of yours will work—with certain adjustments, of course.” They were approaching this with different people, skills and abilities, after all. “At least, the basis of it is sound.”

“It’s not my plan,” Tony says, immediate. “Hate to admit it, but it was…well, you’ll meet him. When— _if_ we reverse all this.” Something dark flickers in his eyes at the words, however, churning Thor’s belly, unsettling. “His name’s Quill.”

“ _Quill?_ ” This revelation startles a laugh from Thor, genuine if brief, for though he recalls Quill among his rescuers, Thor would not have thought him capable of such intricate schemes, a reminder he should not judge people at face value. “This is the first time I have seen you _not_ claim credit for something,” he adds, reaching across to clap Tony on the shoulder, amused. For he knows well how partial Tony is to displaying his expertise, and it must sting to reveal this plot was not wholly his.

Tony seems to take it in stride, however, mouth twitching up at the mention of Quill, in grudging respect. 

A measure of Thor’s burst of amusement must pass to Loki through their link, or the pieces of his plan must slot perfect into place, for Loki chimes in smug, his confidence bolstered, “ _When_ we reverse all this. Not _if_.”

~

Steve is a study in patience, being the last in their long line of interviews.

Loki’s own well of patience, however, seems to have run dry, for he yawns as Steve approaches, and flaps a hand, lazy. “I am already aware of your capabilities,” he says. “But in the event anything has changed in six years, remind me.”

With this, he reels off what he remembers of Steve’s attributes, with Steve nodding, dumbfounded, in agreement at each point, though he seems to fall into a deep melancholy, when Loki notes, with dismay, that he no longer possesses his vibranium shield.

“Perhaps,” Thor tries, attempting interference, “we should not dwell on that overlong.” He nudges Loki’s knee, subtle, a gesture that Loki should not question Steve too closely on this, for the loss of his shield remains a sore point for him. 

_Then what good_ is _he?_ Loki hisses back through their bond, while Steve recounts the fact that Thanos could be slowed with physical strength alone—that was, before he possessed all the stones. A fact they had known already, from Tony and Nebula’s accounts. 

Loki’s brow furrows deeper in irritation as Steve continues on, and even _Thor_ worries for Steve’s place on Loki’s roster, for his _Skills_ column remains dolefully blank besides _super strength / agility / speed_ —when Steve says, sudden, “Oh! But I know a guy, who knows a guy.” 

And when he elaborates on just whom it is he knows, and what gadgets they possess, Loki’s eyes widen with immediate interest.

“Excellent,” says Loki, the gleam in his eyes surer now, _certain_. “Tell this friend of a friend of yours that we shall have need of _all_ of them. And to reengineer them as I ask. We take no chances.”

“Loki?” Thor asks, bewildered, a static of tingling excitement thrumming through their knees nudged together. This is Loki feeling _thrilled_ , though Thor cannot puzzle out his thoughts.

Loki only grins, as Steve takes his leave to make the relevant phone calls. “Your Captain ‘knows a guy’—this will not be a lengthy battle.” He taps the inside of his elbow, arms crossed thoughtful over his chest. “And I believe with the Space stone in hand, we can procure those items within an hour; that is, if the alterations I request can be made.”

Thor thinks little of the items they leave to obtain, left for them in a rickety letter box outside San Francisco—for Steve said he could not risk his friends being seen associating with him as he was now a fugitive from the law—with a note that they were reconstructed to Loki’s specifications. But it is clear from Loki’s expression, as he inspects the contents of the envelope before entrusting them to Steve, that small though the items are, their role in the battle will be tremendous.

He, Loki, and Steve return to the Citadel’s throne room soon after, their return trip less turbulent than the first, whereupon Loki calls for the council to reassemble. 

“We can _do_ this,” Loki beams, confident, when all members of the council, from fighters and elders to those more skilled in the creation of gadgetry have trickled back into the room, waiting for Loki’s reveal. His absolute confidence is met with small, hopeful smiles, a skill in itself, for Loki gives them now the will to _fight_ —a thing no amount of magic would fix, if they lost that will themselves. And though Thor never thought it would be _Loki_ who would become their beacon of hope against an indomitable terror, pride and warmth suffuse his heart now, for Loki is here, a foe turned ally to rally their troops and spirits once more. “It will take all the talents and tools at our disposal, but a victory against Thanos is perfectly possible.”

“All _right_ ,” says Tony, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “With all the hoops you made us jump through, this better be good.” Though when Loki flicks an assortment of slides—the notes Thor took during Loki’s interviews—onto a screen Shuri had brought in, Tony’s enthusiasm dims, slight. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have a ‘too long; didn’t read’ version, would you?”

“Believe me,” Loki says, his voice dripping scorn, “this is something you will _indeed_ wish to read. But I shall summarize our results at this council’s end.” At the drum of Tony’s fingers along the table, however, and constant shifting in his seat, all signs of his impatience to strike out at Thanos at once, Loki adds, “If we push onward to Thanos now, we will be ill-prepared for the threat that awaits us.” He raises a brow then, unimpressed. “Charging ahead recklessly will only spell our doom.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” Tony starts, “but your last incarnation’s plans, as clever and long-prepared as I’m sure they were, didn’t exactly pan out. What difference does another hour or two make _this_ time?”

And though Rhodey slaps Tony upside the head, light, murmuring _too soon, man, too soon_ , Thor still bristles at the sting Tony’s blunt honesty brings. Loki rounds on Tony with a hiss, however, instant, indignant on Thor’s behalf. “How _dare_ you suggest—”

“Loki.” Thor’s voice is quiet as he presses a hand to the small of Loki’s back, grateful for Loki turning Tony’s thoughtless words aside, and impeding Loki’s invective both. The touch is soft, subtle, and when Loki turns to simply _huffing_ his annoyance at Tony, Thor sweeps his palm in broad, soothing circles. To let Loki know that whatever plan he proposes, he has an avid supporter in Thor. “Tell us, Loki,” he says, encouraging. “How should we proceed?”

Loki draws a breath, for courage, for patience, as the floor is finally his, and all the gathered council waits with bated breath for his plans. And after reiterating the results of his scrying—that Thanos has returned to Titan, seeming to take up residence there—and outlining what he has learned from his dialogues with each fighter in the room, Loki spreads his arms, in the manner of a saviour descended to Midgard, blessed and divine. 

“ _This_ is how we will put an end to Thanos,” he grins, calculating, sharp—then tells them exactly _how_.

~

“Is that all there is to it?” Thor asks of Loki’s plan, puzzled, once the meeting has ended and they return to the privacy of their own rooms.

“Did you expect some elaborate scheme?” says Loki, a laugh crept into his voice. “One with fireworks and a reproachful oration about Thanos’ misdeeds before we kill him?” His fingers light on Thor’s elbow, fond. “Not everything is about showmanship, Thor. The manner I propose is quick, brutal, and effective.”

By the Avengers’ response when Loki revealed his scheme, it seems they had agreed. And barring an hour or so of fine-tuning, to ensure everyone Loki drew to his roster used their skills to their full potential, along with secondary plans if the battle went ill, all seemed content to disperse and make their preparations for the following day. 

There are other questions Thor has, however, ones he had not wished to ask before the council for fear of seeming a fool. A fear Loki seemed to sense, for he had stroked Thor’s knee beneath the table, reassuring, showing his willingness to answer what questions Thor had after—steeling Thor’s resolve to remain silent on other doubts as well, for he would not openly oppose Loki’s plans. 

“I know you spoke of the Tesseract’s importance in our stratagem,” says Thor, “but if it holds such infinite value, why not use Stormbreaker’s ability to open a portal like the Bifrost? We could make our way to Thanos with that instead, rather than risking the Tesseract’s exposure. Reveal it as our trump card only if we have need of it.”

Loki arches a brow at this suggestion, amused. “Your new axe is mighty indeed,” he says silkily, fingers gliding over Stormbreaker’s haft, lingering in a way less than innocent. “But _too_ mighty for what we intend to do. What we intend is _stealth_ , and for that, we shall have need of the Tesseract.” 

“Ah.” Thor nods, recalling then that the roar of the Bifrost and the stamping of runes into the ground were indeed not conducive to a mission of stealth. Announcing their presence before they landed a single blow would be foolish, and by then, it would not matter if they had kept their possession of the Tesseract secret or not. 

That, and the fact that Stormbreaker’s ability to transport large groups of people was yet untested. 

“And before you ask,” Loki continues, for Thor had studied Stormbreaker momentarily before turning to him again, “ _no_ , we cannot simply focus Stormbreaker’s might against Titan to destroy it with Thanos still upon it. He will use the Space stone in his keeping to escape again, _and_ he will know we are targeting him.” Loki pauses, contemplative. “At present, Thanos is assured of his victory, and his guard will be down—he will not expect an attack. But if we use your axe in such a way, what advantage we had in our defeat will be lost.”

That was most of Stormbreaker’s abilities sidelined for this battle then, Thor decides, sullen. For Loki had reined in his suggestion earlier during the council—that of simply striking Thanos’ head from his shoulders with their plan, and being done with it—with an indulging smile, and the sentiment, _when have you known a war that was won with one mighty blow? For make no mistake, that is what this is: a war_. A sentiment that rang true enough, for no war _had_ ever been won through one mighty blow, but through the efforts of all. And even if Thor made haste in seeking Thanos’ head, any number of mishaps could occur—his aim untrue, his strike too shallow—and they would find the tables turned, the minute hope they all fought for, lost.

No, a sure win required careful thought, as Loki always said, and Thor knows better than to pursue the matter. To seek glory and retribution that is not solely his to seize.

Perhaps both Loki and Shuri had foreseen this melancholy, for shortly after the meeting, Shuri had had them stop by her lab. Gifted Thor a secondary weapon to use against Thanos: a pair of vibranium weights tethered together by a chain, resembling the bolas he and Loki oft used for hunting. “Do not worry about swinging these,” she had said with a smile. “Just _throw_ them at Thanos. They will do the rest of the work.”

And when Loki had shared with her a conspiratorial smile after her explanation of their purpose, Thor recalled then the two of them collaborating on such a weapon several days past, not knowing its function until now. “They are utterly idiot-proof,” Loki declared. “By which I mean to say,” he cleared his throat, “their mode of employ is very simple—”

“Enough,” Thor had laughed, stroking a hand along Loki’s backside, playful. “I remember well how to use these, and if you do not still your tongue, I shall use them on _you_.”

This had prompted Shuri to squawk that they were _gross_ , and to stop flirting in front of her in her lab, because were they _serious_? _Right in front of her salad?_ A puzzling statement, for there were no salads in sight, until Loki explained that in the same way Tony was partial to pop-culture references, Shuri was deeply fond of amusing ‘internet memes’.

But the thought of memes, from the internet or otherwise, has no bearing on their plans, and Thor turns now to the question that has plagued his thoughts most insistently. 

“Even if we succeed in defeating Thanos, will he not be brought back with the reversions we intend with the Time stone?” asks Thor. It makes little sense to kill the Titan, only to revive him by accident when bringing back their lost friends and comrades. 

“A valid question,” Loki says, considering. “During the time I had the stones—both the Mind and Space stone—I did some study of my own. From it, I found that when examined at the most basic, structural level, they each had properties intrinsic to them that are present even at the atomic level, which Tony and Bruce’s studies confirm.”

Thor nods, unsure of where this line of reasoning is headed, though he knows Loki will lead him to its end all the same. 

“For the Space stone, this is its ability to decrease the amount of space between places in an instant; that is, the folding of great swathes of distance together, like pinching the corners of a piece of paper together, or a section of cloth. As for the Mind stone, it functions, at its core, as a network of neurons, capable of sentience, hypnosis, and suggestion.”

“Ah.” Loki’s logic grows clearer now, Thor thinks. “And what of the Time stone?”

“I can only surmise the nature of the Time stone, since we do not yet have it,” says Loki. “But I suspect that in its most basic form, it is less like a dial that scrolls backward or forward through time, but rather like a tapestry, composed of countless threads. Much like the threads of fate the Norns spin, weave, and sunder.” He beams then. “Shuri and I have devised a system by which we mean to magnify such weavework, identifying which threads to mend, and which to leave severed, never to rejoin the fabric of the universe.”

“So we simply have to ensure that we do not reconnect Thanos’ severed thread,” Thor says, realization dawning on him, gradual, heartened when Loki meets this conclusion with a nod. “Even so, what if his remnant followers decide to make attempts to resurrect him? What then?”

Loki shakes his head. “That would not be possible. The death of a being like Thanos—one who influenced the lives of so many worlds in an _instant_ —will become a fixed point in time. At least, in theory.”

“I…I do not understand,” Thor says faintly. “A fixed _what_?” 

“A fixed point in time,” Loki repeats, patient. “An event so momentous, that to reverse it would cause the collapse of this timeline itself. When Thor simply blinks at him, bewildered, Loki switches tack. “Consider the concept of a lode-bearing column. Remove the column, and the whole structure falls, yes?” When met with a nod from Thor, Loki continues, “Assuming his followers, if any remain, are intelligent enough to attempt such a thing, they should also know that to undo such a momentous event would be to cause the collapse of the structure—that is, the timeline of the universe itself. And they would leave well enough alone.”

“And if they are not?” Thor lifts a brow, for they both know how determined zealots can be in their pursuits. Having been chased by a group of them back in Vanaheim.

“In case they are _not_ so intelligent,” Loki sighs, “and they attempt to either revert the past, or resurrect him in the future, the universe takes measures to prevent such a thing; their plans will be thwarted, and the materials they seek will seem forever out of reach, subtly encouraging them at each turn to give up their quest.” He pauses. “The very nature of a fixed point means it _cannot_ be changed, or reversed, no matter what changes are made after.”

Thor’s brow furrows deeper, for it is impossible not to _worry_ , before Loki’s fingers stroke comforting from his elbow to his hand, twining around Thor’s own fingers.

“I believe your precious Avengers are already collaborating with Nebula and Rocket,” Loki says, “on plans to scour the universe for Thanos’ remaining followers afterward. Though I doubt many remain.” He squeezes Thor’s hand, reassuring. “You need not worry, Thor. Each eventuality has been seen to. And no matter what changes we make with the Time stone, or what his followers attempt after his defeat, Thanos will not return.”

Thor still does not comprehend the entirety of Loki’s theories, but decides that as long as it means Thanos will not return after his demise and that chances of remnant followers reviving him are nil, it is enough for him that _Loki_ does. For nothing Loki does is without precise purpose and intent, and Thor trusts in him to prepare what is needed.

“What of Thanos’ decimation?” Thor asks finally, just to be certain. His thoughts had caught on the words _an event so momentous_ , turning them over, anxious, and loss of life on such a massive scale surely counted as such. “Would that not become a fixed point itself? Would we…” The fear of it makes Thor’s throat dry, his heart quicken. “Would we cause the collapse of this timeline by reversing it?”

“No.” Loki’s hand is warm within Thor’s, even if his lip curls in distaste. “That was an anomalous event, brought about by the flawed and presumptuous ideology of one being. And it is the death of that _one_ that will become the fixed point.” As Thor closes his eyes, struggling to process this deluge of knowledge, Loki’s fingers snake their way around Thor’s waist, in gentle redirection. “We have spoken at _length_ about our plans,” Loki says, grinning, sly. Walking his fingertips up the column of Thor’s spine, teasing. “Shall we turn our minds now to other things, perhaps? Other pleasures?”

“Our bodies as well,” answers Thor, mirroring Loki’s grin, all too eager for such distraction. Nudging up against Loki, purposeful, laughing as Loki draws him into bed, for a kiss as sweet as it is soft.

Then Loki’s tongue winds clever around his, his legs the same around Thor’s calves, and as Loki _writhes_ inviting beneath him, Thor has no thought for the stones, their usage, or the impending battle thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) For anyone who has guessed what Thor, Steve and Loki retrieved from San Francisco, this essentially ignores the post-credit scene of one particular Marvel movie, regarding characters who were turned to ash by The Snap, leaving other characters trapped in…certain realms. (I'm leaving this vague, as I know people who _still_ haven’t seen this movie and don’t want to be spoiled!)
> 
> 2) A _bola_ is an ancient weapon used to immobilize creatures, primarily for hunting. 
> 
> 3) _“…were they_ serious _? Right in front of her salad?_ ”: The internet meme Shuri quotes is derived from an adult video, in which a female character discovers and takes issue with two males engaging in activity… _right in front of her salad_. Details of this meme can be read [here](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/right-in-front-of-my-salad).
> 
> 4) For the purposes of this fic, I have taken some small liberties with the atomic structures / properties of several Infinity stones, especially the Time stone, since the official ‘dial back and forth in time’ function is less conducive to what our heroes intend to do.
> 
> 5) The idea of a “fixed point in time”, the description of which is given in this chapter, is borrowed from _Doctor Who_.
> 
> 6) The strategy with which I intend for our heroes to defeat Thanos is unlikely to be canon-compliant from here on out. But since it was already planned in advance, I won’t be changing it to match the upcoming release of _Avengers: Endgame_. That said, I hope it still proves an enjoyable read!
> 
>  **Also:** Thank you all for following this fic so far! I’ll be on a temporary hiatus from May-June, due to approaching exams, but I should be back in July with more of this fic and Thorki goodness for you to enjoy! Hopefully we’ll all survive _Endgame_ , but if not, there’s always this fic to fall back on. :’) In the meantime, thanks for your patience and understanding. I’ll see you all again soon! With all that said…
> 
>  **In the next chapter:** _Thanos._

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is a labor of love, so if you’ve enjoyed it, or it moved you in some way, I’d love to hear from you!
> 
> I'm also [eyeus](http://eyeus.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/eyeuss) if you want to chat about headcanons or just hang out in general!


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